Virgule Watteau: War Detective
by dm7111722
Summary: Virgule Watteau, famous detective of the 1930's, is about to overcome the biggest series of cases she has ever faced. Can she solve them and help with America's war effort against the Axis in World War 2?
1. Pouring in Ideas (Prologue)

**Arthur is © of Marc Brown and 9 Story Entertainment**

**Watteau: War Detective**

**Chapter 1: Pouring in Ideas**

One morning in a small house in Elwood City, a young and eager writer was practically almost all day in her room coming up with the ultimate masterpiece. Something that outclasses all her other works. She adored detective or mystery novels and practiced her literature skills through role playing and her doll sets. For now she is coming up with a premise to start her new work. Her name is Fern Walters and her stories were mostly about her "alter ego"; a 1930's French detective named Virgule Watteau. And that's what THIS story is going to be about.

As she was about to put her pencil to use, a few knocks on the door stopped her. She sighed at the thought her mom would give her what seemed to be an endless amount of chores.

"Come in." she called out. As the door opened in, it was indeed her mom, but instead of a list of chores, there was a different type of news.

"Fern, George is here to see you." Fern smiled as her good friend from school entered the room to accompany her as she was writing.

"Hey George." she greeted

"Hey Fern." George greeted back.

"Well I'm going to prepare tea." said Miss Walters. "Make yourself at home, George."

"Sure thing, Miss Walters." As Ms Walters left the room to make refreshments for the two, the kid duo tended to Fern's work.

It's a bummer that I didn't get to go with the others to summer camp." said George. "I couldn't even leave the house now that my parents are out to a week's vacation with their friends."

"Well I wasn't in the mood for outdoor stuff so I didn't really bother packing" reassured Fern. "But you're welcome here anytime, George."

"So what's the scoop this time?" asked George. Fern sat down on her bed and was ready to reveal her plans for her new story.

"I just thought of something after Mr Ratburn's class on World War II. Something that outranks ALL my other works!"

"Is it going to be another one of Ladonna's wacky tales?" George asked. Fern giggled as she remembered the time when she couldn't think of a story to write and consulted to her classmate from Louisiana for help.

"No silly. What if the great Virgule Watteau and her sidekick Bastings went on the adventure of their lives? A single conflict brings them to their biggest set of cases and mysteries yet. It all begins now!"

"And about WWII?"

"That's sorta the setting of the story."

"You're going to get Watteau involved in the fighting?"

"Well not exactly. But rather help out at home. You know, detectives solving cases in America."

"Sounds like a plausible idea. But how are you going to start it off?" But Fern rested her head on her hands as she placed her elbows on her desk.

"That's where I'm stuck at." she said. "I don't really know where to begin."

"Hey, which reminds me." George had something in mind. "I have this book about war posters from my uncle for my birthday last month. Wanna take a look for a bit?" Fern needed a break from half an hour's worth of brainstorming for her premise. She nodded in agreement. George opened up his bag that he brought along with him and rummaged into it. He felt for his book when he took rather different item. It was an action figure of Bionic Bunny.

"Oops. I forgot to give this back to Buster at school." He put the figure back into the bag and continued searching. He finally took out a blue book with Rosie the Riveter's "We Can Do It!" signature poster. They opened the book and read through the various war posters. They were quite amazed about how these symbolic pieces of art. They saw that most posters symbolized victory, the need for freedom and liberty and safety in the home front. But there were others that were rather disturbing.

"Yikes!" she yelped after looking at a very traumatizing, medieval-styled German poster. "These German posters are kinda scary."

"They did terrorize Europe back then." added George.

"And some of the Russian posters were just as scary, but some of the others are quite patriotic. I liked the American and British ones best. I can see how influential these works of paintings were." Just then, Fern's eyes and smile widened as if she had one of those "eureka!" moments.

"I got it!" she jumped.

"Got what?" asked George, curiously.

"My story! I now have an idea on how it will begin."

"Great! So you wanna get to it?"

"I suppose. Thanks for bringing the book over." George raised an eyebrow.

"Huh? That was what you had in mind?" he asked again.

"Something like that. Let's get to work. Wanna help me out?"

In a British accent, George gave a proper thumbs up.

"Bastings reporting for duty!" Both sat on Fern's bed and Fern grabbed her pencil. She took out her notebook and was prepared for the beginning of her masterpiece.

**To be continued…**

**A/N~ I've watched Arthur when I was a little kid and when I watched it again this year, I couldn't help but re-watch it and catch up on what I've missed. And I didn't think Fern and George would gain my interest that quickly, basically because Fern likes to write, just like me and George has an understanding for people under special conditions. So I hope this first Arthur fic makes a good impression. Please read and review!**

**I've been quite busy with my college work that I don't really have time to update the other Transformers and Histeria! fics for this site. I hope I can find time once the pressure is off.**


	2. Fitting In

**Chapter 2: Fitting In**

**(A/N~ Story told by Fern. And just in case, Watteau and Bastings will be played by Fern and George)**

December 5th, 1941,

It was a dark and cold night in the streets of New York City. As cars rolled by the busy roads and pedestrians walking by. In an old littered alleyway somewhere in the middle of the city, there were people with rugged clothing and shabby footwear, sitting down on the cold, cracked floor, suffering under the harsh conditions of the Depression that put most of the people's population under poverty and unemployment. Just then, a shadow loomed over the road. Its owner, a dark and mysterious person in a blue trench coat and a bowler hat for attire walked slowly along the alley, with a cane in hand. As she passed by a lone sleepy beggar, she tossed a coin on his shabby hat and moved on. Moments later, she was at a doorway of an old apartment building. There was also another similarly dressed man waiting outside. The two approached one another. The female person raised her lowered head to face the man.

"_Bonjour_, my dear Bastings." asked the French woman. "How fares your search for ze suspect?"

"Quite well, Watteau." responded Bastings. "You're just in time."

Ah yes, the great Virgule Watteau, known for her crafty detective skills and witty attitude. The best detective in all of Paris, now here in the United States of America, along with her trusty English partner, Bastings.

"The suspect lives right in this creepy looking building." said Bastings

"_Oui_." agreed Watteau. "These American buildings are rather mysterious as zey come, _mon ami_. Let us knock on ze door and meet him face-to-face."

"Right-o, champ."

"_Excusez moi_?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You know, how we English say "friend"? _Mon ami?_"

"Ah yes, ze English slang, _oui?_ Come on, then."

They rang the doorbell and waited for the recipient to respond. Who would come to greet them? Would there be a mob of angry thieves coming to work them up? Or perhaps a trap contraption waiting to be sprung at them? Or maybe…

(Door opens and out comes an innocent woman)

"Yes? Can I help you?" Fortunately enough, there was only a middle-aged woman at the door, with no signs of hostilities.

"_Oui,_ madame." Watteau greeted the woman. "We came to see to your son. A… Ronald Patterson?"

"Oh? I don't think he is expecting anyone tonight."

"And why not madam?" asked Bastings. As far as they knew, the woman didn't look like she would do anything to the two detectives, let alone not knowing anything about what was going on.

"Well right now, he's asleep. He just got back from the clinic." she explained.

"Asleep?" Bastings wondered. "Are you sure?"

"Why yes. He's soundly in his bed right now." But Watteau was not convinced. She grabbed her chin and thought deeply.

"If it's okay with you, madame." Watteau asked. "May we at least see him for ourselves?"

"Um, okay. If you'd like. But I must warn you, he's a very deep sleeper."

"Oh we'll be on our best behaviour, won't we, Bastings?"

"Certainly." agreed her trusty sidekick.

The two courageous partners walked into the rather docile-looking home. They followed the young lady up the stairs and into a room. This was it. The lair of the possible suspect behind the theft of the Golden Necklace of Mandelius. But as the door opened to reveal this dark room, we could nothing but a bed and… him! The suspect, Ronald Patterson. It seemed as if the young madam was right. The young man was lying down on the bed, snoring loudly with his glasses on. Watteau watched him closely. For over a minute, she looked on and on. Then, the verdict has been reached.

"Well, I rest my case." said Watteau. "He is lying peacefully…"

She seemed to walk out of the room.

"…unless…"

She reached her arms at the sleeping man and…

"AHA!"

Ronald jumped out as high as he could. The shock was not out of a rude awakening but rather it looked like he was expecting the great detective to have left.

"How did you know?!" the shocked and guilty man yelled. He finally confessed.

"Oh but ze great Watteau knows…"

Half an hour later, we see Ronald being taken away by the local police. The mother looked on, sobbing at the sight of her son who had committed a crime behind her back. Watteau and Bastings comforted the young woman and walked off to the alleyway.

"Another case closed here in ze Big Apple." gloated Watteau.

"By George, Watteau! Oh wait that was weird." said Bastings.

"What was?"

"Every time I say "By George" I… There. That strange feeling."

"Isn't zat English slang?"

"Yeah but… ah never mind."

They continued their trek towards the nearest taxi stop. "

Anyway, how on Earth did you know he was faking?" asked Bastings. "Even I was convinced."

"You figure it out." Such was Watteau's answer. "I will give three guesses."

"Um…?" He thought hard. "Was it his snoring? It was rather loud."

"Nope."

"He was… sleeping facing up?"

"Try again. And you sleep like that too."

"He… uh… didn't have a bath when he should?" Watteau leaned on her cane.

"Bastings, no one would sleep with zheir glasses on, right?" She finally gave the answer.

"No one would sleep with their…?" His face brightened. "Oh! Now I get it! Jolly good show!"

"Nothing ze good Watteau can't handle."

And once again, the great Watteau solves another mystery. With the duo on the prowl, no one was safe from them.

**(A/N~ Ronald is not played by Arthur. And so his mum wasn't played by Jane Read as well)**

"Wait, what does this have to do with my poster book?" asked George.

"Hang on, George. A good writer is a patient one. And you don't have to wait long. Now where was I? Oh yes."

Six days have passed and in that morning, the detectives are taking a well-deserved break from crime-busting in their office. Recently, America was not the same to them anymore. The nation was rising up against isolationism. America was at war! The Japanese Empire bombed Pearl Harbour and people were marching here and there to play their part in the newly-declared war. But as for the two detectives, there's not much of a reaction. They continued to settle in with their work. Bastings was out for a bagel while Watteau was sitting idly at her desk. It was full of the typical paperwork, piled up in a big stack of it, and a table lamp to fill the eerie darkness. She was waiting for the nearby phone to ring, signalling her next mission. But all she could do is relax, hands behind her hand, laying her chair back and her feet on the table. Her radio was playing out a slow and sad French song. The next minute, Bastings came in with his bagel.

"Oh dear. Who turned off the lights?" He turned on the ceiling light. But Watteau didn't look like she needed a little light in her room.

"It was perfect for ze atmosphere, Bastings." she complained.

"Well, how could anyone do their work in darkness?" Watteau tapped her cane on the table lamp.

"Oh right." Bastings closed the door behind him. "You should see what happened out there! The store was empty! People are now so focused on war against Japan, the bagel store was practically empty."

"Well, what would you expect?" said Watteau. "Ze factories developing ze munitions and weapons should compensate for the unemployment. Good reason, _we?_ Well, no time to waste. Let us get back to work."

Bastings returned to his desk. Watteau opened her drawer to search for something to do, for the lonely office room was giving her no fun. Then, she took out a piece of paper. She looked at it for a while. Bastings could see a tear coming down her cheek. What was this tear, he wondered. Was it a tear of tiredness? Or was it tear of a painful memory? Bastings knew too well about what it was. He got up from his chair and approached his superior.

"You still missing your family?" he asked quietly.

"_Oui." _Watteau sniffed. "It has been a year since I left Paris. A year after ze Germans took over France. I was with zhem before they took Paris. But after I left, they didn't follow." Another tear slowly descended. "What if zey didn't manage to make it?" Her voice grew tenser. "What if ze Germans got zem?" And tenser still. "What if… what if…?" She couldn't take it anymore. She covered her face with her hands as she cried her heart out. Bastings sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"Don't worry, my good fellow." Bastings reassured her with the greatest of care. "I'm sure they'll be fine. I'm sure the Resistance was able to save them."

Watteau slowly stopped her crying. She wiped off the tears and smiled at her caring partner. If there was one thing that made Bastings the perfect partner, it was being there for his superior when she was feeling the blues.

"_Merci beacoup, _Bastings. I'm really glad to have you as my partner. It was you and you father who got me out of ze horrible nightmare."

"Likewise, Watteau. You will be with them again. I'm just as worried for my father too. He is probably taking on the Jerries in Africa by now."

"Hmmm."

Suddenly, the drama ended with the radio broadcast suddenly changing from the sappy 20's music to a news broadcast.

"We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news! Word just came in from the American ambassador of Germany that Hitler has declared war on the United States! Repeat, Germany is at war with America! It was also reported that Italy has also joined Germany in this sudden chain of events. It is clear that America will have to fight on two fronts in this hour of darkness and war. More news coming up after these messages!"

Watteau turned off the radio. It was bad enough the Germans took her home country of Belgium and then France. But now, it seems that America was next.

"Well, Bastings. It looks like ze Germans are not playing around anymore."

"They are rather ambitious. Did you hear the news? They're at the gates of Moscow too."

"Zis is not good at all. But one good zhing has come out of zhis." She smiled to Bastings. "England is no longer alone. Salvation has arrived for your king and country, _mon ami_."

"Now that you mentioned it. Yeah. Fear not. Let us pray for the best. Now we have to focus on our…"

Just then, the phone rang. Watteau picked it up and answered the call.

"_Bonjour_. Zis is Virgule Watteau's office. Uh huh. _Oui?_

Then, Bastings saw it. A small grin on her face. This could mean only one thing.

"_Oui_, _Monsieur_ Director, we are on our way." The phone is put down. Watteau readied her cane and magnifying glass. She put on her trench coat.

"Come, Bastings." she called. "We have another mystery to solve."

Bastings got up from his seat.

"Tally-ho!" he shouted.

As he exited the room, Watteau stopped and looked at the small piece of paper again. She blew a kiss on it and put it back in her drawer. She then walked out to catch up with Bastings. As we look closer into the drawer, we could see a small picture of a happy family in a countryside. A little girl stood in the middle of her parents, crouching down at her level. We can clearly see, that the little girl in the picture, was Watteau herself.

**To be continued…**

"Well?" asked Fern, hoping that her friend acknowledged her work. She gave a little longer time to read the rest for a few minutes. George had a slight case of dyslexia, which almost hindered him from reading words.

"Not bad for a start." he acknowledged. "I actually liked it a lot." One thing Fern liked from her stories was positive feedback she got from her friends.

"Glad you did." Then, she looked at her wall clock. Its big hand was pointing to the north-east direction while the small one pointed south-east. "Say, I think mom should be done setting up refreshments. Wanna come down now?"

"Sure. And maybe afterwards, we can help inspire you with a little outdoor role-playing?"

"You're on." She placed down the pencil and notebook and the two kids walked down the stairs. Another exciting adventure coming up after this!

**A/N~ Well, how was that? I hope you liked it! Read and review! **


	3. Mystery of the Missing Poster

**Chapter 3: The Mystery of the Missing Posters**

After a bit of tea to quench their thirst and to satisfy their appetite, Fern and George were now busy role-playing outside the Walters' residence as their respective detective characters. As time went by, so did progress for Fern on getting in newer ideas for her next chapters.

Fern: (French accent) Aha! Ee-enteresting find here.

George: (British accent) What?

Fern: A lollypop stick! Zis could mean only one thing.

George: You mean?

Fern: Yes _mon ami. _Zis is ze work of ze Grey Dove!

George: Blimey. How would he...?

Fern: Oh he must have followed us here, Bastings.

George: But how, Watteau? How?

Fern: Aha! I... I... uh... (usual accent) I don't know, George. Better update on that later.

George: (usual accent) Okay.

George looked at his watch.

George: I better get going. I have to be back home earlier today now that my parents aren't at home.

Fern: Aww. And I was coming to the good part. Well an orders' s an order.

But Fern had an idea. She needed someone to help her with her story for now.

Fern: Why don't I come with you? You could use some company at home.

George: Really?

Fern nodded.

Fern: I'll go ask my mum and see if I can. I mean it's still early anyway.

She ran back home to do so. George sat under a tree at the garden. After two minutes, she came back out with her notebook and pencil..

Fern: Let's go. She said I can spend time until dinner.

George: Gee. She must really want you to socialize.

Just then, a loud rumble is heard over the distance.

Fern: Uh oh. We better scoot.

George couldn't agree better. They rushed on to George's place.

Minutes have passed and rain was pouring real bad. The two entered George's room, soaked from the initial drizzle.

Fern: Brrrrr. The downpour came faster than I thought.

George gave Fern and himself a towel to dry off.

George: Well it could've been worse.

He then moved and opened his closet door. He then took out a giraffe puppet made of wood. It was also wearing a green tuxedo.

George: Ah good afternoon, Wally.

Wally ( by George of course): Er hey there.

Fern giggled as George displayed his ventriloquism to give 'life' to the puppet. The puppet under George's control then looked and showed its hand to Fern.

Wally: Hello hello Fern.

Fern shook it.

Fern: Heya Wally. My, you're getting better at this, George.

Wally: Er, what is she saying?

George: I dunno Wally. Maybe it's my manners.

Wally: Hey, who's the one with the introductions, huh?

Fern laughed lightly.

Fern: So shall we begin?

George: Let's get on with the story.

Wally: Can I see too?

Fern: *giggles * Sure.

They went to George's study table. George prepared his chair for Fern and another for himself.

Fern: Thanks.

Wally: Hey, what about me?

George: Come on.

He placed his puppet on his lap.

Fern: Let's see. Where were we? Ah!

As Fern began writing on her notebook, we go back to the adventures of Virgule Watteau.

16th March 1942,

In a small building not far from New York Square, we see our heroes, Virgule Watteau and her partner, Bastings, in the middle of a conversation with a man in casual clothing named Adam Knuckles. He was busy sending out newly - designed war posters to the War Department. She examined the vicinity for clues. Every nook and cranny she searched. Using her magnifying glass, she checked and checked. Bastings was in the middle of questioning.

Man: Oh thank goodness you could come and investigate, Miss Watteau.

Watteau: It is our duty, _Monsieur _ Adam.

Adam was quite a nervous wreck. He was jiggling and fiddling with his fingers as the search went on. And his hands had a somewhat tasty essence, according to Bastings.

Adam: Do hurry. If I don't send those posters to the War Department soon, I'm going to be a bane to this country! Darn if only I'd stay here instead of going out for a cup of coffee. Just one cup!

Bastings: Fear not, Mr. Knuckles. We will find the culprit in no time.

Watteau checked for clues, walking from here and there, endlessly examining the shelves, tables and even the priting press machine. All she could find were dust, rust and cobwebs. But then, something caught her attention.

Watteau: Aha! Bingo!

She extended her hand to a shelf above her. However, Bastings caught sight of what Watteau had found and...

Bastings: Wait!

Watteau quickly halted. Bastings rushed over and checked. He took a bit of a sort of spreading.

Bastings: Hah! Peanut butter.

Watteau: Phew! Once again, you saved Watteau from another 'orrible rash, _mon ami._

Bastings: Pardon me, Mr. Knuckles. Watteau has a rather serious case of allergies with peanuts.

But he then licked the butter, much to Watteau's disgust.

Watteau: Eck, Bastings...

She then turned to Adam Knuckles.

Watteau: Well, _Monsieur _ Knuckles. We believe ze criminal has a razher, distinctive taste for ze peanut butter.

Adam was once again being all jittery and nervous. It was probably all from the tension of letting down the war effort for America. But then, Bastings pointed out a deeper theory.

Bastings: Watteau.

The witty detetctive walked over to her partner, curious on what explanation he would come up with.

Watteau: _We, _Bastings?

Bastings: Who else we know of knows your allergies for peanut butter?

Watteau: Hmmmm... There's my family, your fazher, and...

Just as she was about to mention the next name, her eyes widenened and her face was filled with anxiety and at the same time, expectation, for this was a name that had her on her toes for as long as she could remember as a detective.

Watteau: ...ze Grey Dove.

The Grey Dove. A reckless and infamous criminal who stalked the streets of Europe ever since Watteau was first assigned as a detective. Every week or month, this sneaky little thief had been stealing some of the finest treasures all of Europe had to offer. There was no stop until Watteau would crack the case and his plans. The last Watteau and Bastings had heard from him, he was caught attempting a theft at the French Lourve prior to the German invasion of France almost ten days later.

Bastings: But how could he have come here? And why?

Watteau: We shall find out soon enough.

But then, the lights suddenly went off in a blink of an eye!

Watteau: What in ze world?

Bastings: Who turned off the lights?

To make things worse, a loud scream was heard. Two seconds later, the lights were back on. And this time, the two detectives were astonished at the change of things after the darkness was illuminated.

Bastings: Blimey! Mr Knuckles is gone!

Watteau: Ee-nteristing.

Bastings: Quick, Watteau. The opened door suggests that he might have been pulled out from there.

But as Bastings ran out door, Watteau then spotted something on the floor at where the nervous poster worker was standing on. She picked it up. It was a small piece of torn paper. It had black edges that looked like it was burned. But a short "We C-" is seen.

Watteau: Hmmm.

After running out of the building, Bastings, followed later by Watteau, ran out to the back alleyway, a large area with a few streetlights and trash cans. They checked everywhere for signs of the missing poster man.

Watteau: Look around, Bastings. Ze criminal must be around here somewhere.

They looked into dumpsters only for cats or rats to run out of them. One cat gave Bastings such a fright when it jumped out and hissed at him before running out. They looked around corners. They even looked up at the rooftops. Just as Watteau was divising a new plan, Bastings looked up at pointed right at the sky.

Bastings: Up there. Scoundrel ho!

A silhouette of a large man with a top hat and a cape, and what appeared to be a large bag, hopped right across one building to another like it was a monkey!

Watteau: Quick! We shall take...

Bastings: ... the abbreviated route. I know. I know.

They ran as fast as they could to catch up with the crook. As they caught sight of the silhouette again, they could see that it seemed like it was also carrying someone. They expected that it was Adam being abducted. As they approached the backway oh a diner joint, they stopped to find the figure had landed slowly in front of them. Watteau prepared herself to confront the man in the shrouds. Who could it be?

Watteau: We meet again, Grey Dove.

**(A/N~ Grey Dove is played by Binky Barnes**)

Grey Dove: How'd you know it was me?

The old time foe walked out to the scene, with Adam having his hands tied behind his back and mouth taped.

Watteau: Call it an...

Grey Dove: What? An 'oonch?

Watteau: Haha (sarcastically). Mock me all you want. You, _mon ami, _are in big trouble.

Bastings: Now release the captive.

The Grey Dove then untied the victim.

Adam: Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. Quick! Arrest him.

Bastings: My pleasure.

As Bastings moved to apprehend the crook, he took extreme precautions for not to make things ugly between them. Surprisingly, however, the Grey Dove willingly showed his hands and was ready to be cuffed. Bastings moved in.

Watteau: Wait!

Bastings halted and all was silent. She looked at everyone present.

Watteau: Zis is getting a little too easy.

Bastings tended to the bag. The Grey Dove still did nothing. Bastings carried the bag to Watteau.

Grey Dove: Okay, you got me. You foiled my latest plan to steal ze posters. In an attempt to make millions of American dollars, I stole zhem, but I wanted more, so I decided to abduct zis pitiful worker to do the work for me.

Bastings: You were pretty bad at hiding your crime. Next time, try losing the peanut butter from your hands first before you attempt something.

Grey Dove: What do you mean?

Bastings: Then how do you explain the food that was on the shelf in the scene of the crime, which I regret tasting earlier.

Grey Dove: Why would I eat peanut butter? I know it is Watteau's weakness but I know it is not right to leave any traces.

Bastings: Which is rather the opposite.

Watteau: Eeenteresting.

Watteau stepped up.

Watteau: Are you sure you **stole **zhem? Or did you **BURN **zhem?

Everyone was shocked! It seemed like the Grey Dove abducted the poor Adam Knuckles and took his posters in that large sack. But the great Watteau suspected something else? That the posters were burned? When Bastings opened the sack, all he saw... was black ash and bits of burnt paper.

Bastings: By George, how... there's that whoppin' feeling. How did you figure that out?

She reached for her pocket.

Watteau: I found... Zis!

The bit of burned paper she found on the floor! Everyone gasped, except the Dove.

Adam: What have you done?!

Grey Dove: Well, there! I admit you are clever, Watteau. Now, if you will be so kind to...

Watteau: Ah ah. Not yet.

Watteau walked around and around the suspect. And then to Bastings and even Mr. Knuckles. She leaned on her cane with that mystwrious detective style...

... And she began.

Watteau: It is clear now. Ze Grey Dove... is not ze only crook here.

The Grey Dove was not alone? What could Watteau have in mind?

Bastings: Not just the Grey Dove?

Watteau: Let us ask... (points cane at...) _Monsieur _Adam Knuckles!

Adam: What? M-me?

Adam Knuckles? A suspect? The mystery thickened and so did the curiousity.

Watteau: When I circled you earlier, I found zis on your shirt.

She showed another bit of burned poster work. Only the eyes and nose of a soldier were visible. Adam was definitely becoming more nervous.

Adam: Uh, I-I...

Watteau: And you said you were out for coffee when ze crime happened.

Adam: I can explain...

Bastings: Hold up. I also seemed to noticed something as well. May I?

Watteau: Of course.

Bastings walked to Adam and grabbed his right hand. He then sniffed it.

Bastings: Aha! I knew it. Your hand smells of peanut butter! And you said you just had coffee earlier.

Adam: I-I...

Watteau: Well, _Monsieur _Adam. What is your defence?

Adam shook with all of his strength. His face filled with fear and anxiety. Then, he stompped his foot.

Adam: Okay fine! I did it! I burnt the posters.

The crime has been brought to light. Now for the plan to be revealed.

Adam: I couldn't argue about contributing to America by sending these posters. But you know how much I gained for this effort? 100 dollars! Per month! Like there's not enough money to help us win the war! My boss can't give me a modest income so I decided to get even. I hired the Grey Dove when he approached me last week. I took all the posters I could carry and burnt them all outside the backyard. All of it! Then I'd ask the Grey Dove to take it all the remains away. It would all be done successfully if you hadn't shown up sooner. My reasons are fair. Why should I be wrong?!

Watteau: I'm afraid ze War Department was clear about how we will deal with ze one responsible. Bastings, arrest him.

Bastings placed the cuffs on Adam's hands. The guilt was obvious on his face.

Watteau: And as for you,...

As she turned her attention to her long-time enemy, she found him running away out of the alley!

Grey Dove: Ha Ha Ha!

Watteau: Bastings, wait for ze cops. I got him!

The chase was on. Detective against criminal. The Dove may not be entirely involved, but he still helped in a crime. Moreover, Watteau wanted answers. How did the Grey Dove escape Paris? Why America? All very intriguing questions. The pursuit continued, through the streets, at the city square, and finally to the docks. The Grey Dove had nowhere to run. Watteau confronted him once again.

Watteau: Okay, _Monsieur _Grey Dove. How did you get here? And why? Before I 'ave to do you in.

Grey Dove: Oh you want to know? Well, it was quite simple. Remember ze Dunkirk evacuations?

(Back at George's house)

George: Wait. What's that?

Fern: Have you been paying attention to Mr. Ratburn?

George: Sorry. I just couldn't focus with Buster chewing his gum.

Fern: *sigh* Never mind. I doubt many would know of the event right away.

(Back to story)

Time for a flashback.

29th May, 1940. Dunkirk, France.

The war was being fought in Europe. But France was on the verge of a humiliating defeat. The Germans were coming. All there was left to hold out against them were thousands of British and French troopers waiting to be shipped out to the safety of the British Isles.

George: Oh now I remember.

Fern: Hush.

But they were not the only ones. Among the crowd was a lone young woman, in detective wear. We can tell it was Watteau herself. She was carrying her equipment in her backpack. She took a look back sadly. She could see smoke rising over a hill. Knowing that the Germans were getting closer, she hesistantly continued her walk to some of the evacuation ships. She looked around for a probable ship to board. Just then, she heard a familiar voice. A youthful call of British accent, calling her name. She saw the owner of that voice. She saw her old partner, Bastings aboard one of the vessels. She ran to the ship. Up the deck, approached him. She finally smiled since she left home behind.

Watteau: I zhought you were in London by now.

Bastings: When I heard my dad was going to Dunkirk, I knew it would be an evacuation mission. So I took the chance that I might see you.

Watteau: How could I ever do my work without my trusty sidekick?

Bastings: Come. Let us catch up on things.

They both walked up to the deck. Watteau took one last look at her home soil. A tear dropped down her cheek as the memories she had in France lingered in her mind. All Bastings could do was placing his hand on her shoulder. He had never seen her this emotional ever. Watteau gave a soft smile to Bastings.

Watteau: You have never seen me like zis, right?

Bastings: No but everyone can get sappy sometimes.

Watteau: True enough. But you know we can't conduct our work in London. Knowing the Germans, zhey will attack ze city.

Bastings: How about America?

Watteau: Very good idea, Bastings.

Unbeknownst to the reunited duo, a huge crate was being by a French soldier. In that crate was not any food. There weren't any weapons or ammo either. Instead, inside that anonymous crate, a stoaway lay in wait. As he opened up the box, he rose from the box, dusting off the dust that covered his suit for hours. We see it was none other than the Grey Dove.

Grey Dove: *coughs* Pfft pfa! At least it is betteir zhen a sarcophagus.

He walked away from the supplies and continued to lurk in the ship.

(Back to the present story)

Grey Dove: And zat is how I came to America. I followed you two all ze way here. Unknowingly of course.

Watteau: Well you have ended up in my sights again, _monsieur. _Prepare to be arrested.

But the Grey Dove wasn't going to give up. He charged at Watteau at full speed. She dodged the charging ceiminal while givong him a whack of her cane. She then proceeded to grab a rope and swung it like a cowboy's lasso. She threw the hooped end at the recovering Dove. He was wrapped in a constriction of Watteau's rope. As she tugged and tugged, the struggling Grey Dove tried and tried to escape. But the heroine detective was finally able to catch him. She held him by the collar.

Watteau: Now I got you zis time.

However, the Grey Dove had one last trick up his sleeve. He headbutted Watteau with such force that it felt like a baseball hitting your head. She fell to the ground, barely conscious. The Grey Dove freed himself and jumped onto a rowboat.

Grey Dove: Ha ha ha! I would normally never hit a girl, but you, I made an exception.

The nasty crook rowed away as he laughed the dusk away.

A few minutes later, Bastings arrived. He saw Watteau barely moving on the floor. He ran as fast as he could. He reached her as she tried to recover from the concussion.

Bastings: Watteau? Are you alright? Say something.

Watteau rubbed her head roughly.

Watteau: _W-we, mon ami. _But I am, as you say, dumbfounded by ze Grey Dove's intolerance for certain women.

Bastings: Why I oughta...

Watteau: No fear, Bastings. We will get him next time.

They watched as the moon began to rise from the sea. What crazy adventures will they have next? Only time will tell.

Fern: To be continued.

George: That was excellent.

Wally: No it wasn't. It was awesome! Five stars. More! More!

They looked outside and saw that the rains have stopped. It was also getting dusky.

George: Did we write that long?

Wally: Time flies and dang I missed it.

Fern: Well, I better get going. Mom should be making dinner by now. Thanks for the company.

George: Hey. What are friends for?

They walked down the stairs to the front door.

Wally: They make ya spin and spin with their nonsense jokes and pranks.

George: Wally.

Wally: What?

George opened the front door and Fern went out.

Fern: Don't forget Mr. Ratburn's assignment on Currency in a few days.

George: Oh no! I forgot!

Wally: How typical.

Fern: Relax. It's not that hard. Besides, if you want help, I'm just a phone call away.

George: You mean it?

Fern: Hey. What are friends for?

They smiled and waved goodbye. George closed his door as Fern walked home.

Fern: I guess I shouldn't regret not going to camp after all.

**The End... For Now...**

**Well, what do you think? Don't forget to review! **


	4. The Presidential Assignment 1 (updated)

**Chapter 4: The Presidential Assignment Part 1**

It had been a week and Lakewood Elementary School was entering a new semester. In a hallway of lockers, the school bell was heard. And with that, kids came out almost simultaneously. A few minutes later, a few girls gathered around a notice board. One of them was Fern.

Francine: Yes! I made the cut! The school's next rock competition will be mine!

Muffy: Definitely. Time to get you some new clothes.

Francine: Oh no! Remember the last time you tried to accessorize me?

Muffy: It was the new trend, Francine.

Francine: Well, no thanks. I'm fine as it is.

Sue Ellen: You should enter too, Fern. I mean you did sing with the Backstreet Boys before.

Fern: Nah. Maybe not this time.

Francine: Why not? You're a great singer.

Fern: But singing really isn't my thing. Writing is what I do best. Well, I better get going. See ya around.

They waved goodbye to Fern. As she walked along the corridor, she caught sight of George going through his locker. He closed the door and sighed.

Fern: Something wrong?

George: Oh hey Fern. Binky was picking on me again for my lunch money.

Fern: When will he ever stop?

After packing up, George walked with Fern to the exit.

Fern: I told you you could finish that assignment. And you didn't even need my help.

George: But I did make a miscalculation. It was so stressful. So what was going on at the notice board?

Fern: It was the auditions for the singing competition. Francine wanted to know if she made it to the singer's part.

George: Did you enter? Did you make it?

Fern: Nah. Not really my thing.

George: But you're a great singer.

Fern: I rather stay home and write a novel in the future. I can't just go around the world performing in front of thousands.

George: Yeah going for all those grand events with all the paparazzi. You'd be so busy that I would've not be able to see you again which will be sad and then the...

Fern: Wait what was that?

George: Uh. Um. Oh look at the time. I-I got to go. Have to do something with Wally today. See ya.

Fern just paused. Then she smiled amusingly. She knew what he said and quietly said to herself.

Fern: Oh George. That was so lame.

She ran to him again. He was blushing red especially when Fern caught up with him.

Fern : Hey, how 'bout I follow you on your way home?

George : Aren't you going with the girls?

Fern : I would, but I can always do that later. Besides, I need you to help me with my story.

George: Still need me, huh?

Fern: Why not? You are a really great helper.

George : Let's go to the Sugar Bowl. We'll start there.

At the Sugar Bowl ice-cream stop, the two were prepared for work on their story, while having a milkshake each.

Fern: Now, let's start the next chapter.

George: Got an idea on how it's going to be?

Fern: I have a plot. Now to add some spice to it. Put on your thinking cap, George.

George: I was wondering how did you come up with these crimes in the story.

Fern: Oh that. Mr. Ratburn showed me that the war had a lot of interesting stories to tell. And I just couldn't help but look them up on the Internet.

George: Why not become a history buff? They come with really neat stories.

Fern: Let's not go there. As interesting as the war sounds, history is a real bore for me. **(A/N~ I don't agree. If didn't like it, I would not be writing this story. Thank you :p) **At least not yet.

George: Well, my thinking cap's on. Let's get writing, Agatha Shelly.

Fern: That was like a year ago. I'm thinking of a new pen name.

George: Why? Fern Walters is a good name.

Fern: Don't you get tired of praising me and everyone else?

George: Not really.

Fern: Eh. Good then. Let's begin, uh... um...

George: What?

Fern: Never mind. I'll think of a pen name for you next time.

George: Me? A pen name?

Fern: Why not? You're a great help for my stories. I think it's time I included you into them. Is that okay with you?

George: Of course. Go on ahead.

13th April, 1942,

Washington D.C. The capital of the US was bustling with people pushing to contribute to the war effort. But as good of the people went on, crime always found a way to take advantage. At the local Detective Bureau in Washington, our good heroine, Virgule Watteau, was waiting outside the Director's office for her next exciting mission.

Bastings: Let's see. We caught the sneaky Mack Sullivan from attempting a theft at the jewelry store. Then stopped Susie Rose from stealing a number of weapons from Army Base Jackson. And lastly, foiled Lance Reginald from sending illegal funds to the black market. I'd say we will get a raise soon enough.

But Watteau didn't hear him. Her mind was set on the upcoming mission.

Bastings: Hello, Watteau? Anyone home?

Watteau: Huh? Oh, Bastings. _Excusez moi. _

Bastings: Ah, excited are we now?

Watteau: _We. _Every mission has been. It is, 'ow you say, an adventure waiting to happen.

Bastings: Wonder what we got today?

Watteau: It has been a month since we seen our good friend, ze Grey Dove. He has yet to surface in zhese dark times.

Bastings: Who knows? Maybe he's doing no good right about now.

Watteau: We will catch him somehow. My head has been hurting and swelling for a few days

Bastings: Comes to show he is a real rock head.

Watteau: *chuckles* Good one.

Watteau saw what Bastings had on his lap.

Watteau: What do you have zhere?

Bastings: Oh this? This is an interesting book about American landmarks. The Yanks really know what to come up with these days. I've finished reading about the Washington Monument yesterday. Did you know it was completed in 1884 after a long hiatus in...

As they continued to chat, a woman dressed in formal attire exited the Director's Office.

Woman: Miss Watteau. The Director would like to see you now.

Watteau: Wait here, Bastings.

She stood up and walked into the room. There sat the Director. He was wearing a light brown trench coat and a darker brown hat. He wore a pair of glasses and was reading some sort of book about a heroic bunny. (A/N~ In other words, he is played by Arthur) He stopped on what he was doing.

Director Randall: Welcome Miss Virgule Watteau. Please sit down.

Watteau did so, waiting to hear what next episode in her job had in store for her. Could it be a plot to slow the war effort? Could this be a plan of arson? Or would it be just another theft?

Watteau: And how are we doing today, _Monsieur _Director?

Director: Very good. I have another special assignment for you. And it's from someone very important to this nation.

Watteau was excited after hearing that.

Watteau: Who?

The Director held a recorder in hand and place it on his table. He pressed the play button. When it was being played, a very familiar voice can be heard.

Voice: Greetings, Miss Virgule Watteau of the French Board of Detectives. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the President of the United States of America, Franklim Delano Roosevelt.

Wow, she President of the USA asked for her assistance? She regained her focus and listened to what the President had to say.

FDR: I am informed by my officials that you have been crippling crime efforts around the country. Well, let me say that you have been a real fine help on stopping crooks from taking advantage of the war we are trying to fight so hard in. And we thank you for that. Now, we could use some well-prepared and conscious people like you in more important missions. Like the one I'm about to give you. You see, our best intelligence has come to a theory that I may be watched For what purpose is unknown until we find those who are claimed for doing such a potentially dangerous thing. I fear an assassination, but it could be something worse. And if you ask us what could we have that's worth the act, forget about it. Anyway, we have assigned another detective to search for clues but we thought we could use some extra hands. So go to a nearby warehouse where you'll find the detective who is awaiting your presence now. The warehouse was closed after an explosion due to an accident but witnesses have seen people sneaking in and they don't look like anyone who has any permission to enter. Do consider taking this task. The entire nation, the war and my own life could depend on your assistance. Thank you, Miss Watteau.

The recording ended.

Director: Well, Miss Watteau?

Watteau: It will be an 'onour to help ze President in zis case.

Director: The aforementioned detective will be meeting you there. Good luck.

After 30 minutes, the dynamic duo went to the scene of the crime. The night was young and the city of Washington was as busy as ever. And so was Watteau, who was looking real ecstatic.

Watteau: Ah we must be vigilant, Bastings. Ze criminal could be around here somewhere.

Then she headed on over to one of the buildings. She sniffed out.

Watteau: Hmmmm. Eeenteresting. Something it smells of ze fish. Rotten stench of raw fish. There is also a scene of scratched and cracked walls. Bastings, what could zis mean?

Bastings: Uh (points up) an abandoned fish market?

Watteau: Hmmmm. Maybe. Let's go look some more.

Bastings: Look Watteau. I know you're excited and all, but you gotta calm yourself down.

Watteau: _Au contraire, _my dear Bastings. I have ze magnifying glass.

They arrived at the scene. An old warehouse where prized ammunition was being stored and ready to be shipped to Australia for soldiers to fight the Japanese in the Pacific. But the building has not been open for days after an accident involving a munitions explosion. Luckily, no one was hurt. And intelligence dictated that a few peiple have been seen entering the building without any approval. It was worth the start for investigation.

Watteau: Zis is ze place.

Bastings: So let's get in before we get into any trouble.

Just as they were about to get in the warehouse...

Voice: Well, well, well. Look who ze cat dragged in...

A female French voice was heard in the distance. As Watteau looked to where it came from, she gave a glare at the person.

Watteau: You spoke too soon, Bastings. Trouble has already come.

She walked towards the shadowy figure.

Watteau: We meet again, Annabelle Fatteauil.

It was Annabelle Fatteauil, Watteau's rival and her cousin. She wore almost the same clothes as Watteau, except with a black skirt and a bowler hat. She walked towards Watteau.

**(A/N~ Fatteauil is another one Fern's imaginary characters in the show. But the relationship between her and Watteau as cousins is my idea. And she is also played by Fern).**

Fatteauil: I didn't expect you would be here, my dear cousin.

She spoke with a proud and soft voice, which didn't amuse Watteau.

Watteau: Well, aren't you a sight of ze sore eye.

Fatteauil: Relax, Watteau. Everyzing is under control.

Watteau: Haha. Just so you know, I have orders from ze President of ze United States of America. So why don't you just pack up and leave zis to ze professionals?

Fatteauil: *chuckles* Is zat so? Unfortunately for you, I have also got orders from ze same man. So I'm staying right here.

Watteau could not believe her ears. Her long-time rival also got the call from the President? Things weren't looking well for Watteau. She had always thought that Fatteauil was better than her, but she always went all out to outwit Fatteauil in a case. Most of her attempts did not go so well.

Watteau: You? Ze President called you? Hah! Don't make me laugh.

Fatteauil: Well, if you're done bickering, we can start our investigation.

She walked towards the warehouse, passing Watteau and Bastings.

Fatteauil: And how are you, Bastings?

Bastings: Uh, fine. Thanks.

She walked right in. Watteau grabbed Bastings by the arm and stormed in.

Bastings: Whoa!

They walked on deep into interior, where conveyor belts and other machines were seen. Bastings freed himself from Watteau's grip.

Bastings: What is wrong with you?

Watteau: Ugh. Bastings. You do know zat she could ruin zhis task for us.

Bastings: I doubt it. She's as great a detective as you are.

She gave him a glare.

Bastings: *gulp* Okay. Maybe a little less.

Watteau: I know you've been working closely with her in London while I was working alone in Paris, but I wanna get on top of her for a change.

Bastings: Come on, Watteau. When will you ever cease this childish game?

Fatteauil: Is zere something wrong?

Fatteauil came with a slow but stern face.

Watteau: Nozing. We were just starting our search.

Bastings: No we weren't.

Watteau poked him with her cane.

Bastings: Ow!

Watteau: Let's go.

Putting aside her rivalry for now, Watteau and Bastings travelled into the warehouse. On every single shelf, there's always boxes of munitions and weapons stored. Big bullets for knocking out tanks or planes, while the little ones for the infantry.

Bastings: Blimey. There's enough rounds here to blow the entire building.

Watteau: Let alone blow up ze city.

Watteau scanned the area with her magnifying glass, searching and searching for any trace left behind by any suspect. Fatteauil on the other hand was just looking up and down, walking her cane in hand. She held her chin and thought.

Fatteauil: Concentrate, Fatteauil. Concentrate. Where will be ze most suspicious part of zese American warehouses?

They frantic search went on for half an hour. Just then, as Watteau was walking along a conveyor belt, she spotted some peculiar on the belt.

Watteau: Aha! Eureka!

Bastings: What? What did you find?

Watteau showed it to Bastings. It appeared to be a torn piece of postcard. On it was the number '84'.

Watteau: Hmmmm...

But she was not the only one with a lead.

Fatteauil: Ha! I found somezing!

Watteau: Drats.

The two ran to Fatteauil. She was at the exit. She pointed on the dirty floor.

Fatteauil: Zere are tracks leading to ze exit.

Watteau: Big deal. Zis is supposed to be ze drop off point.

She took a pinch of the rolled-over dirt. She actually checked the contents of the dirt with ber magnifying glass.

Bastings: Don't you need a microscope for that?

Fatteauil: Haa. Zis is no ordinary magnifying glass. With special modifications to ze lens, I can identify ze smallest of findings.

Watteau: Great. She's ahead of me in finding zings AND in technology.

Fatteauil looked into the piece with her new tool.

Fatteauil: Hmmm, ze dirt is fresh and warm. It means ze vehicle has left not long ago.

Watteau: But it could be a vehicle that could've been sending some supplies or somezing.

Fatteauil: You're forgetting ze fact zat ze place has been closed for investigation. According to ze Bureau, no one has begun anyzing here until we came.

Watteau: Eeenteresting...

But then, suddenly, Watteau felt a strong and nasty pain behind her head. She fell to the ground.

Watteau: Ow!

Bastings went to help her. Fatteauil looked up to where the can was tossed from. And there she saw it! A shadowy silhouette above the support beams of the roof. It ran off with great balance across the beam.

Fatteauil: Halt! In ze name of ze law!

Watteau recovered from her fall, rubbing on where she was hit.

Watteau: _Sacre bleau. _What hit me?

Bastings: We best hurry. The fiend is getting away. Fatteauil is in pursuit.

Watteau: Ah. Stealing all ze glory, eh? Well you're not going to get ze win zis time!

She ran off to catch up with her competition. Bastings just shrugged and sighed.

Bastings: This outta be fun.

Watteau ran as fast as she could. Sprinting through the warehouse like a cheetah, she could not let her cousin take all the credit. She has spent her whole time in America fighting crime. She couldn't let her rival take it all away. She ran outside the front entrance. Bastings was able to catch up. Then they took a turn for the side of the building. And there the saw a dark figure and it appeared to be facing its back at them.

Watteau: Ah! Nowhere left to run!

Bastings: No, wait!

Thinking it belonged to the crook, she pounced on the figure. Both fell to the floor.

Watteau: Alright, you fiend. Time to get you arrested!

But what she didn't realize was... That she was not arresting the crook.

Voice: *groans* Watteau! Get off! _Sacre bleau_!

She looked at the figure's face and it revealed a very angry, very cross... Fatteauil! She then looked towards the alley and saw another shadowed figure running off. It left their sight. The pursuit had failed.

Fatteauil: Great. Now ze suspect is gone. You happy? Now get off!

And she did. As Fatteauil got up, she dusted her off the dirt. Boy, was she mad. Even Watteau has not seen her this mad.

Fatteauil: Well Watteau, you better apologize.

Watteau: _Moi_? Why _moi_?

Fatteauil: As you could have clearly seen, I had ze suspect right where I wanted him. And you so happened to be in ze way.

Watteau: You could have just caught him with your bare hands! Zat is how you catch a criminal! I swear you always find ze more civil approach.

Fatteauil: _Excusez moi_. But your ways are razher, how you say, barbaric.

Watteau: Well in case you have not noticed, zis country IS at war. Things have been barbaric!

As the two feud over the situation, Bastings was watching the argument unfold.

Bastings: I can never understand those two.

But when he looked on the floor not far from the girls, he walked over to where he saw something and picked up a small piece of paper. He tried to read it, but it was a bad idea to read it with all the racket going on.

Bastings: Will you both knock it off?!

At the top of his voice, the quarrelling cousins stopped their unnecessary argument.

Bastings: Very good. Now let me read this. I saw this drop off when the suspect made a run for it. Hmmmm... Yes... How peculiar.

He walked towards his partners.

Watteau and Fatteauil: Well? *looked at each other and turned away angrily* Hmph.

Bastings: Well, it says here in this note.

We got some pretty useful info about the President. Get to the warehouse for some supplies. And meet us at WM, at 9:30 sharp.

-JA

Watteau: JA?

Fatteauil: And where is zis WM?

Bastings: Let's put our heads together for a bit.

And thus, the thinking game began. Three great minds coming up with one definitive answer. While Watteau and Fatteauil were further investigating and thinking, Bastings was holding the note and went to work in the thinking as well. He read it carefully and thought rather hardly. He then remembered the torn piece of postcard that Watteau found and thought of the number '84' on it. Suddenly, as if he was hit on the head, he remembered a conversation he had with Watteau outside the Director's office.

*flashback*

Bastings: Did you know the Washington Monument was built in...

*present*

Bastings: 1884!

His two partners quickly ran to him.

Watteau: What is it, Bastings?

Bastings: I know where the suspects could be. Watteau, hand me the piece of paper you gave me earlier.

Watteau did as was told. The piece of paper is handed over to Bastings.

Bastings: As I had suspected, this number seems to be signified as '1884' because of the incomplete number text. And 1884 so happens to be...

Watteau: Ze year zat ze Washington Monument was completed. Bastings, you are a genius!

Fatteauil: Well is zat so? Then we must head for ze Monument

Watteau: For once, I concur.

And off they went! The case has been solved. Now for the hunt.

Fatteauil: Impressive work, Bastings. You have bested me in zis case.

Watteau: Ahem. What about _moi_?

Fatteauil: What about you?

Watteau: Never mind.

After an hour taking a cab to the Monument, the hasty trio rushed to the Monument courtyard. They entered a huge crowd of passing citizens walking here and there. Most were probably spectating the beauty and symbolism the Washington Monument had to offer. But unknown to them, a mischievous criminal, or a group of them, was about to hatch up a plan. What do these guys want with from the President of the United States and why? Such curious questions for Watteau. But with a huge crowd of innocent civilians all over the place, finding the suspects was easier said than done. Still our brave detective and her comrades were determined to put a stop to the scheme.

Fatteauil: Spread out. We will cover more ground zat way.

The group divided into three and split up to find the suspects. They checked among people in the open grassy fields, by the man-made lake and even outside the boundary separating the Monument from the public. But so far, not a single lead was found. They rendezvous back to where they began their hunt.

Watteau: Anyzing?

Fatteauil: No. Nozing.

Bastings: Nothing at my end either.

Watteau: We've been searching for an hour. Let us zink of a plan.

Fatteauil: Wait. I almost forgot. We have ze permission from ze President himself to pursue wherever we wish for the sake of busting ze crime.

Watteau: Let us check ze Monument itself.

They approached one of the guards watching out for trespassers. Fatteauil showed him her detective's pass. The guard agreed to let her in and so they went in. At the front of the Monument, all seemed quiet, except for the soft sounds of chatter by the citizens from afar.

Watteau: If I were a group of fiends cooking up a scheme in a national symbol, where would I be hiding?

Fatteauil walked to search behind the monument. She headed for the corner of the base of the structure. What she saw at the other end gave her quite a surprise. She ran to the others to report her findings.

Fatteauil: Come with me. I have found somezing.

Watteau: _Sacre bleau_. How does she do it?

Watteau and Bastings followed Fatteauil to her findings. After the corner, they walked towards empty ground. She tapped her cane on the ground, looking for something. What was she looking for?

Watteau: What are you? Blind?

With every tap, the very faint sounds of common rustling rock were heard. Then, with a few more taps, a sudden knock sound was heard, as if she knocked some wood. After tapping the same spot some more,

Fatteauil: Bingo. Come, Watteau. Tap here.

Watteau walked over, still unsure of Fatteauil's findings. She did as was told and tapped the same peculiar spot. She was surprised about the unusual sounds of the knocking, instead of tapping. Watteau looked closer and her surprise grew when she saw a bit of wood surface under the grass. The two then lifted the seemingly fake grass patch. They managed to reveal an underground entrance!

Watteau: Aha! A secret hideout. I found it!

Fatteauil: **YOU **found it?

Watteau: _We. _I saw ze wooden material that gave its location away.

Fatteauil: But I found it with sound. AND I saw ze crook open it up.

Watteau: I knew ze clue that led us to here.

Which was more important? The suspects or this pointless arguement? Bastings couldn't care less about what those two think, but he knew Option #1 was the right choice of said question.

Bastings: Oh, come on. Let's just get this over with.

He walked off into the hideout, leaving the other two detectives to shrug their shoulders before they walked with him. The journey was dark and spooky, not to mention wet from yesterday's downpour. But as they walked along, they came across wall lanterns and scaffoldings supporting the passage.

Bastings, Eck. It's like a mine down here.

Watteau: You're telling me. It stinks down here.

Fatteauil heard a very faint sound that resembled something like chatter.

Fatteauil: Sshh. I hear somezing.

They sneaked forward and made their way to a wider part of the cave. As they moved on, the chatter became louder and louder. At one point, they could hear actual words like "trouble" and "information". They hid behind the corner leading to a lit area. Around that corner, they could actually hear a conversation happening between a few men. They peeked to see three men. One of them, however, had his appearence unseen in the shadows. The other two were dressed in normal everyday clothes, gathered around a table with a map and a dangling ceiling light on top of them. Watteau listened in.

Man 1: You fool! How can you attack them? All for we know, they could've followed you!

Man 2: I didn't have a choice. I couldn't get the goods on time. So I had to distract them. When they hit the road, that was when I decided to take them.

Man 1: Which is more important? The supplies or our cover?

Man 2: Well I don't see you coming up with any ideas.

Man 3: Enough. Look, gentlemen, zis is not good for us at all. Not only did we not retrieve ze supplies, but you may have allowed ze authorities enough time to find us. You have costed us dearly!

Man 1: Well you try outrunning some of Europe's finest detectives. I'm pretty sure you won't be able to get even 1 kilometre from that warehouse.

Man 3: _We. _Virgule Watteau and Annabelle Fatteauil. Both of zem combined is like dealing with a bomber squadron on your head.

Bastings was a little uncomfortable with that statement.

Bastings: (whispers) What about me?

Watteau: Sssshhh.

Man 3: Once we get what ze President wants, we will be rich beyond our wildest dreams!

Watteau, Bastings and Fatteauil gathered around behind the corner to formulate a plan. But then, as Watteau was about to give out her plans, she could feel a little tug beneath her feet. Afterwards, they felt like they had been pulled up into the air and then caught in a tight grip of a giant hand. Soon they realized, they were stuck in a net. It was a trap! The mysterious men stood up and walked towards the trapped detectives.

Man 3: And we don't have to worry about Europe's finest detectives any longer.

They struggled to adjust themselves in the net. As the man approached them, his appearance became more and more visible. He was neatly dressed in a tuxedo and was wearing a piece of lens at his right eye. He looked like a French aristocrat, especially with the French moustache.

Man 3: So, you zink you could sneak right in and snag us when ze opportunity presented itself, _we_?

Watteau: *groans* So I assume you are ze JA from ze letter.

Man 3: Well I wonder where you got zat letter.

He shot a short glare at one of his accomplices.

Bastings: Oh and don't forget the postcard, sir.

Man 2: Well, uh, I wanted to make sure I get the place right, so I, yeah, I... bought a postcard so that I could remember it.

Man 1: Clearly shows that you're an idiot.

Man: But I still have it with me. How did you know?

Bastings took out the piece of paper with the number "84" on it.

Bastings: When you read a lot about Yank landmarks, you tend to know a lot more as well.

Fatteauil: Now zat we know zat you are spying on ze President, what are your true intentions?

Man 3: Ah. Glad you asked. Mmhmm. My name is Jacque Anton. And here is my story.

(at the Sugar Bowl)

The shop's owner, Carl Manino, appeared with a large tub of a banana split ice-cream with a scoop of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry each, sprinkles and a cherry on top.

Carl Manino: Here you go, fellas.

Fern: Hang on, I didn't order this.

Carl: But this young man did.

George: Thanks, Mr. Manino.

As Carl left, George prepared to dig in.

Fern: Gee. A milkshake and now this?

George: Yeah, couldn't help myself. You're free to join in if you'd like.

Fern took a spoon.

Fern: Now that's (winks) "sweet" of you.

As they helped themselves out with their treat, Fern was still up for thoughts to finish the cliffhanger. Who is this Jacque Anton? And what would he want from the government? Another exciting chapter awaits!

**Well I wanted to finish this case in one whole chapter, but I could save time by splitting it in two. Enjoy!**


	5. The Presidential Assignment 2 (updated)

**Chapter 5: The Presidential Assignment Part 2**

At the Sugar Bowl, the two children have finished off their delightful dessert.

Fern: Ahhh. Something to cool down my stomach after a late lunch. Well my brain's re-energized. Wanna get going with the story? George?

George wasn't feeling so good. He was holding his tummy

George: *moans* I think I have to... Gotta go!

He jumped up and rushed to the restroom.

Fern: Hmm. Told him to slow down. Oh well. I'll go ahead first.

She picked up her pencil and opened her notebook.

Fern: Now where have I left off?

The writing began.

Last we met our heroes, they have uncovered a secret hideout underneath the Washington Monument. The crooks plotted to obtain something crucial to the President of the United States. But as they were about to reel the criminals in, the team got tied up into a trap! They soon came face-to-face with the head honcho of the operation himself.

Man 3: So, you zink you could sneak right in and snag us when ze opportunity presented itself, _we_?

Watteau: *groans* So I assume you are ze JA from ze letter.

Man 3: Well I wonder where you got zat letter.

He shot a short glare at one of his accomplices.

Bastings: Oh and don't forget the postcard, sir.

Man 2: Well, uh, I wanted to make sure I get the place right, so I, yeah, I... bought a postcard so that I could remember it.

Man 1: Clearly shows that you're an idiot.

Man: But I still have it with me. How did you know?

Bastings took out the piece of paper with the number "84" on it.

Bastings: When you read a lot about Yank landmarks, you tend to know a lot more as well.

Fatteauil: Now zat we know zat you are spying on ze President, what are your true intentions?

Man 3: Ah. Glad you asked. Mmhmm. My name is Jacque Anton. And here is my story.

*flashback*

Jacque Anton von Berlitz. _We. _It is a name of both French and German. Zat is because my mozher as a devoted French woman while my fazher was a proud and patriotic German. Ah how zey met was somezing straight out of a Shakespeare story. My fazher had many ways to charm a woman, and zat was how he and my mozher got together after a ballroom dance in Paris. Zey led a happy life in Paris where I was born. But ze happiness was not to last. At ze age of seven, I went to kindergarten but already was my reputation shattered by ze incompetence of bullies. Zhey never approved of my appearence and constantly beat me up. I did not recover from ze beatings even until elementary school. But my grades were top-notch and i managed to get new friends. But ze pain only returned, worse zhan ever. Remember ze Great War decades ago? We moved to Berlin a month before Germany declared war on her enemies. And my fazher answered ze call to arms. You can imagine how sad it must be to see your beloved family member leaving his family behind to serve ze nation. But he was only sent to a senseless death. He died in ze trenches along with millions of ze Fatherland's fighting men. I weeped for days, months probably. I never thought my fazher would just leave us to ruin and depression. We were all devastated by ze loss of our finest man. He should have never gone to war and died.

Watteau: Zhen why not take your revenge on ze Germans?

Bastings: Uh, Watteau. Not really helping with the reassurance.

I did not blame Germany. My fazher taught me zat Germany was a place of pride and power. Zat she was a world power! But when she lost ze war, zat glory all faded away like an avalanche. But I never lost faith in Germany. I wanted to help her regain her glory. We endured ze harsh conditions of ze Depression. But unfortunately, my mozher could not. She passed on from an illness we could not afford to cure. And zat was zat. I had no parents to raise me. How heartbreaking it was to lose both of the people you loved. My siblings and I continued to suffer under ze poverty. We could only live on trash amd leftovers, but even zat was not enough. My brothers all went mad and left me to rot in ze streets. I was my own family now. No one to take care of me, not even a friend. Ze horrid past of bullying came back when bigger kids threatened me to leave or else. Life was not in favour of me. But zat all changed.

When I zought I could survive any longer, hope came to me. A man in a brown trenchcoat, black fedora and a cane saw me one night, digging in ze garbage. He reached for me and said,

"Young man, aren't you tired of digging in ze garbage when you can have so much more?" He asked me to follow him, but I was reluctant. However, with no one to guide me through ze world, what choice did I have? When I followed him, he showed me a closed jewelry store. And do you know what he asked me to do?

Fatteauil: Let me guess. Steal?

Jacque: Oh no. He says everyzing was for free. Of course I stole!

Fatteauil: Oh, what a surprise.

When I broke into that store, I felt a sudden pang of desire and ambition, driving me to plunder more. I could get whatever I want, wherever I want. But I remained to ze belief zat Germany can still prosper. And zat all came to be. I witnessed ze rise of Hitler and ze Nazis and saw zis as an opportunity to regain her former glory. When zey began attacking Europe two years ago, I took my criminality to a whole new level. I decided to form a guild of thieves loyal to Germany. I had many of France's most notorious thieves come togezer to steal from people around France before ze inevitable arrival of our masters. Food, riches, even war supplies. We stole as much as we could. After zey stormed into Paris, we ceased our activities for a while. We made ourselves noticed. Zey applauded in our efforts and zey gave us more money zhan we ever imagined! And you what else? Zey want us to do more, so ze Vichy government assigned me to do my work somewhere where a potential enemy. America.

To us, she was a sleeping giant, that once awakened, could bring Germany to tumble. I took ze job without hesitation. Zis was a task fit for a man like me. A man willing to serve his nation. A man who would also prosper in zhese times of need. A man who will become a hero!

*Present*

.

Jacque: But zhere is still a problem I need to deal with.

Fatteauil: And what is zat?

Back in my days in France, there are two very troubling people who always get in ze way of my men's efforts. You, Annabelle Fatteauil and Virgule Watteau.

Bastings: Oh come on! Can't I at least have some recognition?

Man 2: Uh sir. I hate to interrupt this whole reminiscent moment and all, but we gotta go before the President's shipment arrives.

Jacque: Ah _we. _

Watteau: What shipment?

Jacque: Oh I'm afraid I can't let you in for zat. In fact, you won't live long enough to hear about it.

Bastings: *gulp* Why does it sound like we're going to be in some sort of death trap?

Jacqye: Hehehe. I'm so glad you asked. Malcom!

Jacque signalled his henchman to pull up a switch on the wall. And below our heroes was what resulted from it. Two wooden doors opened to reveal a small pool of water...

...with electric eels swimming in it!

Watteau: _Sacre bleau_!

Bastings: Oh no!

Fatteauil: Zis is not good.

As their fears mounted, the net they were trapped in soon slowly descended gradually down to the pool, as well as their certain doom.

Jacque: Fresh out of ze Amazon. Now I will leave you to have a real shocking experience. Let's go, boys. *laughs evily*.

The bad guys walked out gloating away as Watteau and her partners began to sink more and more. They needed a way out, but what could they do? Cut the rope off and they will fall into the pool. They could always try reaching the switch, but even their canes weren't long enough. What were they to do?

Fern: What were they to do? What were they do? What were they... *groans* What am **I **to do? What goes next?

As Fern held her head and rested it on the table, George returned from the restroom.

George: I'm back.

Fern: Took you long enough. You feeling okay?

George: I'll live. So what did I miss?

Fern: Not much. Except for the bad guy's back story and our heroes about to face a, well, unpleasant experience.

George: Aww.

Fern: But I'm kinda facing writer's block right now. I can't think of a way to continue.

George took her notebook. He read what she had written so far during his trip to the restroom very closely for he had dyslexia and could not read properly. Thinking hard, he thought of every possible way to get the story going. Then, a smile was on his face.

George: I think I might have something. Listen closely.

Fern: Alright.

She listened in for George, but he began to feel hesitant.

George: Uh, on second thought, my idea may not meet your standards so why not you...

Fern: *giggles* George. I don't really mind. Just try it out. And I can trust you and only you with my stories. So whatever you have in mind, do tell. I'll be the judge of it.

With Fern's acceptance, George felt more comfortable.

George: Gee. I didn't think you trust me that much. Alright, let me put some thought into it.

Fern: Go for it.

With a few scratches on his head, George spoke up. Fern wrote down whatever he told.

Then, as they were halfway to the pool, Bastings felt an uncomfortable feeling at his bottom. He struggled to reach his back pocket, but being stuck in a net with two other people can be real tricky. At once, he kicked the back of Watteau's head.

Watteau: Ow! Hey! Bastings!

But Watteau also couldn't notice but she nudged Fatteauil's right shoulder.

Fatteauil: D'oh! Will you knock it off?

Watteau: Well, _excusez moi. _

The two continued to struggle in the net. Bastings could not get a hold of his back pocket with all that hustle.

Bastings: The more you two struggle, the worse its going to get. Now let me deal with my back.

Watteau: You are more worried about your back zhan zhis?

Bastings caught hold of an object out of his pocket. It was a roll of duct tape he normally used for fixing Watteau's cane whenever she would accidentally break it upon incapacitating criminals. He then looked at the pool to see how much time they had before getting in. He also took short glimpses at the two detectives' canes, which were quite different. Watteau's cane had a golden orb on one edge but Fatteauil's had nothing but a hook-shaped end to it. Finally he turned to the switch that opened the doors to the pool. Duct tape, canes and switch. All combined in his head. Thus, he struck gold!

Bastings: Bingo! Quick! Hand me your canes.

They handed over their canes to Bastings, who proceeded to them together. Fatteauil's cane acted as the hook, while Watteau's was to be used as an extension of the longer cane. With that done, Bastings reached with all his strength. He tried to reach for the switch and pull it back down. The hook reached the switch.

Bastings: Got it. Now I got to... *moans* pull it... down.

But with the distance between them and certain doom was inching less and less, it was getting harder and harder to pull it down. However, he didn't give up.

Bastings,: Almost there.

Watteau: Quickly!

The trap was almost at the surface of the water. Bastings trieevenen harder to pull the switch.

Fatteauil: Now will be a good time!

Bastings: Darn the law of physics!

With a few more tugs, the switch finally moved!

Bastings: Yes!

The doors shut, and just in the nick of time too. The second the doors closed, the net trap touched the doors. Now Fatteauil used her knife to cut the trap open. They were free at last.

Watteau: You are a life saver, Bastings.

Bastings: Just doing my job.

Bastings walked to the exit.

Bastings: Come on. We have to catch Jacque before.

Watteau: Ahem.

But when he looked back, he saw that Watteau was holding the canes, still taped together.

Bastings: Oops. Hehe.

He cut loose the tape with Fatteauil's pocketknife and removed the taping. With their canes separated, the trio ran out the exit.

Watteau: Come, _mon ami_! We have no time to lose!

And off they went. Jacque Anton had to be stopped for if he got to whatever the President might have, the mission and possibly the safety of America will be in complete trouble.

George: Here, how 'bout that?

Fern took the book and read his idea.

Fern: George...

George looked nervous. He wouldn't want to see Fern all disappointed and have her erased his ideas. But Fern just looked up at him...

...and smiled.

Fern: It's perfect!

George: It is?

She nodded.

Fern: Thanks so much. I knew I could count on you.

George: Uh no problem. How about you go on and write the rest? I'm sure you got everything settled for the ending.

Fern: Indeed I do.

Fern took out her pencil and wrote the rest of the story.

As our heroes reached the exit, they immediately stopped.

Watteau: Aren't we forgetting somezing?

Fatteauil: You mean where exactly ze crooks are heading?

Bastings: Back to the hideout.

They needed to find out where Jacque and his minions were about to conduct the theft of the President's cargo. So they went back in and headed for the same room where the planning started out. They searched the table, the drawers by the cave walls and even under another wooden table next to the drawers. Then, Bastings saw something above that table. A map of New York, which was full of arrows and descriptions.

Bastings: Over here! I found a map!

They gathered up at the map. They took a look at it carefully. But they could not see through all those scribblings and circles.

Bastings: Why not take it down to view?

He tried to pull the map, when the unthinkable happened! A sudden flame ignited and the map was burning fast! Luckily, Bastings let go just in time, but the only chance to find Jacque Anton burned away with the map. They watched helplessly as the map turned into ashes.

Watteau: _Sacre bleau. _Zhere goes our evidence.

Fatteauil: How did zat happened?

Once the fire is put out, they looked further on and saw that behind where the picture was an empty space. In that space was some sort of trip mine. Fortunately enough, it was designed to ignite a single flame instead of exploding. A piece of string was also found, possibly attached to the map board used to trigger the mine when pulled.

Watteau: Eeenteresting. Modified a mine to burn ze evidence, not explode and kill us.

Fatteauil: Jacque Anton is smarter zhan we zink.

Bastings: Now what do we do? He could be in any dock or seaside location in New York.

Fatteauil: We better find zhem soon, or we will risk ze President's safety.

Just then, Watteau took a few sniffs at a certain, repulsive smell.

Watteau: Eck. Somezing smells of ze fish. Literally.

Bastings and Fatteauil also picked up the smelly scent. Bastings walked towards another corner of the hideout. There was a large-sized crate, covered with a sheet of cloth over it. It looked wet and the smell got stronger and stronger every inch Bastings got closer. He grabbed the sheet and pulled it right up. And there it was!

Bastings: Yikes!

What he saw spooked him out of hos comfort zone and jumped into Watteau's arms. Fatteauil walked right over to see a crate of mackerel and sardines all piled up inside.

Fatteauil: From ze scent of zhese fishes, they came fresh out of ze market not long ago.

Watteau dropped Bastings with a humph. She walked over to the crate and examined the crate itself. She looked through her magnifying glass and looked closer and closer, searching for a lead. Then, she found it. It was the title of where the fishes came from.

Watteau: Aha! The DC Docks! Quickly, zhere is no time to lose!

The gand ran back out the hideout and were finding a cab to the DC Docks. They managed to catch one and told the taxi driver where to go.

Watteau: To ze DC Docks, _monsieur._

The cab drove off to their destination. Unfortunately, being the capital of the nation, Washington wasn't really the best place for a good traffic flow. Being stuck in a jam for more than half an hour, Watteau could only tap her fingers impatiently as the traffic jam slowly tested her patience. She looked around anxiously, wishing the automobiles around could just disappear woth a snap of her finger.

Fatteauil: Watteau, be patient. I've never seen you zhis impatient since Aunt Marlene's family reunion zhree years ago.

Fatteauil was just sitting calmly and Bastings was just reading the rest of his Washington tour guide book.

Watteau: Come on, _monsieur. _Can zhis move any faster? We got a criminal to catch here.

But the cab driver wasn't amused.

Cab Driver: Hey, come on. This is DC, Frenchmen. This ain't a race track or anything, so stay still will 'ya?

Bastings: Uh, actually I'm English.

Cab Driver: Same difference.

The traffic jam went on for another half an hour. Sooner or later, they managed to arrive at the docks. They paid the fee and ran towards the area. They got permission to enter the premises and went to the pier.

Watteau: Zis must be ze place. It must be.

Then, as they approached the jetty, they caught three silhouettes in the distance standing on the wooden port boards. They hid behind a pile of boxes and the sihouettes began to reveal their real identities. They were the people our heroes were looking for. Jacque Anton and his goons were inspecting a cargo loading at the docks. A small boat docked next to the platform and one of the crew placed a board for landing. Jacque walked closer to the board.

Watteau: What is he doing?

Fatteauil: Quiet. Let us hear in.

A man came from the deck of the boat and descended down the board. Jacque approached the man and stood in a proper matter, as opposed to his leaning-on-stick stance. Clearing his throat, he made an extraordinary feat.

Jacque: Greetings. You came right on time.

He changed his accent to American! A real clever way to ease a criminal persuasive abilities.

Jacque: The President is expecting this cargo to arrive sooner.

The sailor spoke in an English accent which gives us the notion that he came from England.

Man: Apologies. Those U-Boats are giving our ship a hard hitting. Fortunately enough, the Yanks had an impressive escape route.

Jacque: Indeed. Now let's hurry. I fear there might be spies around due to the weight of this mission.

Man: Very well. Come on, lads!

Afterwards, two other sailors came down the board; one of them carrying a small crate. They walked to their fellow sailor. He handed him the crate and showed it to Jacque.

Jacque: Ah yes. Now if you'll excuse me.

Suddenly, he and his minions took out gas masks from their pockets. The sailors could only look on curiously. However, what they didn't realize was that Jacque had a bomb in his pocket! He took that out and tossed on the floor. The sailors gasped and tried to run for cover, but it was too late. Fortunately, however, it only released a small cloud of gas. But when the sailors sniffed it in, their eyes suddenly began to close and their bodies began to feel wobbly. Finally, they fell to the ground, unconscious.

Jacque: (Back to French accent) _Merci beaucop. _For ze kind gift.

The three baddies proceeded to take the crate, which had fallen on the ground. They were about to walk away when...

Watteau: Don't move, Anton!

The trio of the detectives jumped out of their hiding place, but not without a comedic fall by clumsy old Bastings.

Jacque: How did you find us? More to ze point, how did you escape?

Watteau: Call it a fishy feeling.

Fatteauil: And for ze second question, your attempts to put us out for good is not ze least admirable. And did I mention how primitive ze traps were?

Jacque: *growls* Never mind. Sick 'em boys!

The two minions charged at the trio. But Watteau and Fatteauil dodged their swipes and rushed for Jacque, leaving the two goons dumbfounded. But they then turned attention to poor Bastings.

Bastings: Uh, fellows. A little hand here?

Watteau: We are a little busy ourselves. Handle zhem.

Man 1: *chuckles* Easier said than done.

Man 2: Looks like we got this in the bag.

As Bastings was forced to endure the two crooks, Watteau and Fatteauil engaged Jacque in a two-on-one duel.

Jacque: *chuckles* You two sure are being unfair now, eh? No matter.

He wielded his cane and showed off a few staff martial arts moves. Watteau and Fatteauil were a little shaky but they knew they could muster enough courage to fight him. Fatteauil attacked by launching herself in front of Jacque and fought him with her own moves. It was truly a clash of the canes. Every time one would try and strike, the other would successfully counter the hit. And since Fatteauil was smaller, she basically jumped at some points of the duel. But after a minute of exchanging blows, Jacque got the upper hand and tripped Fatteauil with his leg. As Fatteauil fell, Watteau immediately grabbed her cane and whacked a few cans litttered on the floor as if she was playing golf. But the quicker Jacque dodged as many as he could. At one point, he actually performed a spin kick and sent one can flying back at Watteau. She barely avoided another painful hit to head. She wasn't going to let another man knock her out cold on the head like that time with the Grey Dove.

Jacque: Do you see how nimble I am? Not even machine guns can catch me!

Fatteauil: You are correct.

But Fatteauil quickly seized the opportunity and whacked him on the chest, causing him to fall hard on the floor.

Fatteauil: Zat is what machine guns are for anyway. Zhey keep you pinned long enough for ze ally to hit you right where you want it.

Jacque recovered and ran up to the boat with his precious cargo in hand.

Fatteauil: I got him!

Watteau: No I got him!

The two rivals were at it again. Racing to see who gets the criminal first. The calm but resourceful Fatteauil or the tough and witty Watteau? Who will get there first? But in the meantime, they seem to have forgotten a certain person behind. Jacque's minions were chasing down Bastings, who tried to hit the two, but they outnumbered him, forcing him to run around to find an opening. One of the men tried to swing a fist at him, but Bastings quickly jumped out of the way and it destroyed a crate instead. They ran after him again and had him cornered in front of a pile of barrels. Another punch and yet another dodge and a few more stuff destroyed. The chase went on to a group of small buildings. Bastings quickly ran behind one building to hide and catch his breath. With this little of energy, he knew he couldn't last long enough. But as he looked around, with his pursuers moving closer, he saw something at the opposite building. It was a bottle of detergent that he could use for a slippery solution. He ran again and grabbed the bottle. He spilled as much detergent as he could. As the goons ran on the trail of soapy and slippery detergent, they suddenly felt like skidding on ice. They couldn't control themselves and finally fell hard on their backs, but the troubles weren't over. Even as their backs were against the floor, they continued to slide on until they crahsed into a pile of garbage. They were knocked out cold and they pretty much stank.

Bastings had his hands on his hips, standing proudly at his achievements.

Bastings: Like killing two birds with one bar of soap. Now to arrest them and get to the girls.

As he was apprehended the crooks, Jacque was still trying to lose his pursuers from boat to boat. Watteau and Fatteauil were catching up quite well. While Jacque endlessly jumped from biat to boat, the two detectives ran along the pier, following him. Eventually, the criminal was on his last boat. He was surrounded. Watteau and Fatteauil closed in.

Fatteauil: Zis time you won't get away!

Watteau: Let me take care of him.

Fatteauil: What? No way, I solved ze mystery first.

Watteau: Well you didn't save us from ze eels.

Fatteauil: Neizher did you.

Both of them jumped at Jacque at the same time, but the witty criminal managed to duck. What came next was not going to be pretty for them. The two attackers collided on each others heads. Both landed on their bottoms and rubbed their heads. Jacque, on the other hand,, jumped off from the boat he was on and went for another opposite one. He hijacked it by rewiring the boat's controls and the engine started. He gave an evil smirk at his enemies.

Jacque: _Au revoir_, my new foes. I have ze President's secrets. Now I shall return to ze Fatzherland with information zat will ensure his victory! *laughs evily*

The laughter got quieter and quieter as the victorious ceiminal escaped with his loot. Watteau and Fatteauil could only watch as the fiend escaped far out to sea. Fatteauil got up and dusted herself. She then faced Watteau, who was still on the floor.

Fatteauil: Well zat went well. _Merci beaucop_, Watteau.

Watteau: Why blame me again? It was clearly your fault.

Fatteauil: I had everyzing under control until you decided to take all ze credit.

Watteau: Me take ze credit? Oh no, _mon ami. _I believe it was you who desires a little reputation.

As the two continued to argue over their failures, Bastings arrived at the scene. He hauled his catches of the day, who were still unconscious. He put them down and tried to call his partners.

Bastings: Uh guys.

But they didn't budge.

Watteau: I would've caught him if you would just let me do it myself.

Fatteauil: No. You were the one who could have waited.

Bastings tapped his foot impatiently as the arguement continued. Then he couldn't take it any longer.

Bastings: Will you two pay attention?!

Silence filled the air. The two reeled from the ear-shattering call.

Bastings: Good. Now tell me did we get our man?

Watteau: *sighs* I'm afraid not, Bastings. He got away with ze package.

Fatteauil: We were zis close when Madame Impatience here spoilt ze moment.

Bastings: Well at least we caught these two slackers here. Now let's say we just report our failures like real detectives.

Watteau & Fatteauil: _We._

They walked away, heads lowered. Their constant rivalry had failed them the case of the day...

...or had it?

Bastings looked behind at the sea to reflect on his failure. The sun was setting, but there was enough light to shine on something else that caught his attention. He walked over to a large crate to find a smaller crate just right there. He read the box title.

Bastings: Blimey! You chaps better get here!

The two detectives ran to him.

Bastings: It's still here! The President's package!

Watteau: _Sacre bleau_, Bastings! How is it possible?

Fatteauil: Wait. If zis is ze package, zhen what did _Monsieur _Jacque take?

(Jacque's boat)

The seemingly victorious criminal continued to drive away. As the docks left his sights, he deactivated the engine. He tended to his cargo.

Jacque: *chuckles* Now to see what is so important about zis package?

He opened it up. But the contents inside were not what he'd expected. Turned out he got a little fishy reception.

Jacque: Ew! What is zhis stench?!

The crook got away with the crime, but he didn't get away with the right stuff. All he got from this escapade were a few mackerels.

Jacque: NNNOOOOO!

As the criminal became full of regret and sorrow, our heroes returned the goods and whoever responsible to the authorities. Bastings continued to hold the crate while Fatteauil handed the criminals to the officers. The police car drove off with them.

The Director of the Bureau arrived.

Director: Well, girls. The crooks will get a real good treatment in jail tonight.

Watteau: _We_, _Monsieur _Director. Another case solved by Virgule Watteau.

Fatteauil: Ahem. But I zink you need to give _moi _ze credit as well.

Watteau: Like I said, you are indeed a glory hog.

But just when the argument was about to begin anew, Director Randall walked over to Bastings and took the crate.

Director: Well done, fine sir. The President sends his regards.

Bastings: Uhhh, all in a days work?

Watteau and Fatteauil could only look on with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. Everyone left the scene after a few minutes. The three detectives walked back home. They stopped at a sidewalk.

Watteau: Well, I guess you can't win everyzing.

Fatteauil: Agreed.

A taxi arrived right in front of them. Fatteauil walked right in.

Fatteauil: I got to hand it to you, Watteau. Perhaps you are indeed a great partner. But next time, please try to stay out of my way.

She closed the door and the taxi drove off into the distance.

Watteau: Why ze nerve of zat woman.

Bastings: Come on. Let's head on home.

Watteau: Bastongs, can I ask you somezing? Zat is, if you prefer to leave our rivalry alone.

Bastings: Go on.

Watteau: Who would've you chosen to your patner? Me or Fatteauil?

Bastings: Fatteauil is indeed a clever and calm woman. Innovative, quiet and strict. That's why I kind of find her rather... a little boring.

Watteau: But quiet is your nature.

Bastings: Yes, but I do love a little excitement and action. I can't choose between you two, but I think I'm a lot more used to you than her for now.

Watteau: Aww. _Merci._

Bastings: Anyway, I'm famished with all of this running and trapping. Let's get ourselves a little savoury snack on the way.

Watteau: Let us get a bagel to celebrate our day.

As the two hungry and grateful partners walked for a late night snack, at the President's office, a neatly dressed man approached him at his desk. With him was the crate of his package.

Secretary: Mr. President. Your package has arrived.

FDR: Ah, yes. Virgule Watteau and Annabelle Fatteauil have done it again.

He tended to the crate and opened it.

FDR: Ah. It's all here.

Secretary: The blueprints for our new project.

FDR: No.

He took something from the box. A chocolate bar?

FDR: You got to admit. British chocolate hits the spot very good. Churchill never ceases to amaze me. This crate of bars will be just thing for my daughter. But now that you mentioned it...

The President put the bar down and faced his Secretary with a serious face.

FDR: We should have those plans by tomorrow. How soon can that project be done and over with?

Secretary: I'm not really sure, Mr. President. But we need those plans soon if we want this war over.

FDR: Indeed, but following our reports of these pro-German crooks on the loose, we should increase our security. But for now, I thinl Virgule Watteau is our only option for these tasks. Thr Manhattan Project must not be jeopardized at all costs. Do I make me myself clear?

Secretary: Of course, sir. The fate of the free world depends on it.

As the White House comes out of our view, we can only imagine. What kind of project could this be? And what other pro-German criminals would be out there to stop it? The mystery deepens. But as long as Virgule Watteau is on the case, they better watch out, because she is on their tail.

To be continued...

George: Ooohh, what is this Manhattan Project? You must have thought of something.

Fern: Ah. But the writer never reveals his secrets. You just have to wait till the story reaches that point.

George: Awww. But I just wanna know.

Fern: Patience, my friend.

Just then, her face brightened.

Fern: Yes! I got it. Your pen name. William Hemingway.

George: William Hemingway?

Fern: Since Agatha Shelley is a mixture of Agatha Cristie and Mary Shelley, I propose a mixture of my favourite male authors for you, William Shakespeare and Ernest Hemingway.

George: Hey, I like it!

Fern: Virgule Watteau: War Detective. Written by Agatha Shelly and William Hemingway. It's a great example of teamwork.

George: Yep. I can't wait till this gets out to our school.

Fern: Who knows? I could show this to people all over the world.

George: Uh, let's slow down with that.

Fern: It could work, George. Trust me.

George: Right... Well I gotta get going.

Fern: Mmm. Sure bout that? Mr. Sad-to-be-away-from-me?

George blushed at her teasing.

George: What was that?

Fern: Oh, nothing.

George: You know what? Maybe you can come with.

Fern: Alright. Come on. Let's see if Arthur and the others have something fun to do. And don't worry about being quiet. I kinda have the same problems but I get along with them at the end. You can too.

George: I'll try.

They walked out after paying for the treats.

Fern: See that's the common thing you and I have. We don't make enough social contact, but it can be arranged.

George: You're right about that. I wonder if Buster has any of those alien comics he said he bought from that convention.

Fern: It won't hurt to ask...

They continued their chat on their way to Arthur's place. Another exciting chapter of Virgule Watteau awaits in the next episode!

**Phew! That was quite long~ Enjoy and review!**


	6. Watteau Gets the Boot Part 1

**Chapter 6: Watteau Gets the Boot (Part 1)**

The day went by as the kids of Lakewood Elementary exited the school after another day's work of knowledge and endless homework. But a few minutes later, one kid got a little more than he bargained for. At the nearby park, we see our good old George walking along the sidewalk, feeling a little blue.

George: *sighs* These days I just wish I had no homework for the week. My head's still aching from having my antlers locked in the locker. Huh. That actually sounds kinda funny...

Just then, while trying to adjust to his inner pain, he heard footsteps coming towards him. Heavy ones. A rough and tough voice alarmed George.

Voice: Oh George.

He knew very well who the owner of that voice was. It was none other than Binky Barnes, one of the local bullies. George knew he was in big trouble.

Binky: Just where do you think you're going?

George: Uh nowhere. Just... Uh... Walking along on... This nice park. Hehe.

Binky: Is that so? Well guess what? It's time for you to pay. I mean literally.

The bigger boy's voice was intimidating for George. He was shivering to the bone as fear struck him.

George: Uh... I used up all my money on the cafeteria food. So uh... Maybe next time?

Binky: Very funny. I'll give you five seconds to cough up your allowance, or else...

George: *gulps*

Binky: Five... Four... Three

At three, he readied his fist. What was poor George to do?

Binky: Two...

And the fist rose to the air. George covered his eyes and readied for the blow. He put a hand in his pocket to search for the money while the other arm was raised for defence.

Binky: One...

Suddenly, a female voice, sharp and almost quiet but could still be heard.

Voice: Hey you!

Binky stopped and turned around. George could barely look for a few seconds. He opened his eyes and saw that help has arrived. He saw Fern behind Binky, with her fists at her hips and she was far from quiet. She was cross!

Binky: Argh. What do you want, Fern?

Fern: I want you to leave George alone. Like what has he done to you?

Binky: Oh nothing. Just borrowing a few bucks is all.

Fern: And you can't even use your own?

Binky: How would you know I have any?

Fern: Oh I know.

She pointed at Binky's back pocket and found that there was a dollar bill sticking out of it.

Binky: Ah big deal. Just leave or I'll call Molly over. She's a girl so she'll take care of you.

Fern: Oh really? Well for your information, Molly's not in town. I saw her family's car leaving off out of town this morning. From the looks of things, she ain't gonna help.

Binky turned his attention on Fern and walked towards her. George could only watch helplessly.

George: Run, Fern! Run!

Binky: Yeah. You heard him. I'm not gonna go easy on you just because you're a girl.

Fern suddenly dragged her right foot forward a little and made a posture that would seem like she was ready...

... to fight!

Fern: Oh yeah. Well you've been warned. Take this! HIIIIYAA!

She swung her right hand forward to a chop. Then, she pulled it back and threw her left fist forward. She proceeded to do a right kick. Again and again, Fern made multiple kung-fu-like moves. Although they did not actually hit Binky, but with every move she made, Binky grew more and more intimidated. Then, finally, Fern did one swift kick to the ground with a hard stomp. After being physiologically attacked, Binky had had enough. He ran for his life as fast as he could, screaming at the top of his voice. George just stood and watched as Binky bit the dust. He walked over to Fern.

George: Wow. That was amazing.

Fern: You can say that... OW!

When she moved the leg that hit the ground, she felt a sharp pain in her foot. She crouched down and held it.

George: You alright?

Fern: Ugh. No problem. Just a silly mistake not warming up first. Ouch!

George: Here.

George gave her a hand and helped her up slowly. Fern then wrapped her arm around George as she lifted her hurt foot lightly. George held her back and both started to move slowly towards a bench under a tree, coloured with everything red, orange and yellow from the autumn season. Leaves drift down faster than you could say,"fall". As he helped her, George was somehow blushing red in his cheeks. He had helped people like this before, but never before did he help a girl. Regardless he moved with her to the bench and sat down, still blushing.

Fern: Thanks for the lift.

George: Uh yeah. I guess we're even.

Fern: So um... how was your day?

George: What? You mean you haven't seen all the homework Mr. Ratburn gave us?

Fern: Okay. Other than that?

George: Well not so good. Had my... antlers stuck in the locker.

Fern: Again? Geez. When will you learn to look carefully next time?

George: Hopefully before I graduate. *Both laugh* Anyway, where did you learn those moves?

Fern: Oh that. Well, it's all actually _tai chi _moves from Mr. Wu. You know, those slow-moving, peaceful moves he and I always do at the other park? I just roughed it up and went harder with every move. And... ow... this is what I get. A hurt foot.

George: Well you looked awesome out there.

Fern: Oh no. It's nothing really.

George: Tell that to Binky.

They took a short glimpse at the empty playground in front of them. But the peace and quiet was not to be without an activity for them.

George: Hey, since we're here in this peaceful and quiet park, shall we pass the time with another chapter?

Fern: I do need something to distract me from all this homework after all. So let's go for it.

As Fern took out her notebook and pencil, ready to continue her story, she looked around the park.

Fern: Now I just need something to put in it. An item of interest. Something to be the next victim of our next case.

George also looked around. Suddenly, something caught his attention. A big boot on the sidewalk earlier.

George: Hey. Isn't that one of Binky's boots?

Fern: Hey you're right. He must've dropped it when he ran off. Well he did deserve that running but I guess we should return it somehow.

George: I'll get it.

George walked to get the boot and came back with it.

George: You know. It's strange because there are times where I mostly get harassed by him, but for some reason he occasionally gets along well with me.

Fern: *looks at us (breaking the fourth wall)* I wonder why...

George: But still, I dunno how I'm going to return this without getting pulverized. And... Ew, this boot is muddy, like he ran a military camp or something.

Just then, Fern had an idea striking at her.

Fern: George, you've done it again. I just got a plot for this next chapter. The Case of the Missing Boots.

George: Or why don't you call it, "Watteau Gets the Boot"? *snickers* Get it. Because she gets the boot as in... you know... uh...

Fern: Okayyy. Eh, good call anyway. Let's get to work, Hemingway.

George: *sigh* Right behind you, Shelly.

Fern: Oh and did I mention my granddad used to be in the army back then?

George: No way! Really?

Fern: Mmhmm. He came yesterday to spend a few nights with us and I spent some time listening to his days on the actual battlefield! Can you believe that? Now I don't have to worry so much as to where my story gets stuck at. Like I used to say once, the best stories are told from the people who experienced them. I've got some pretty useful info from him right here.

George: Then let's hop to it.

Fern: Could've said it better myself. And so our story continues...

3rd September 1942,

The war entered its third year. The Allies were on the move in North Africa while American Marine boys put their all against the Japanese in Guadalcanal. But as for the duo of crime-fighters, Virgule Watteau and Bastings their battles were getting tenser and tenser as now with the threat of Jacque Anton, an egoistic pro-Axis Frenchman, looming around. And just when they have settled with him, along came another puzzling case, just waiting to be solved.

At Army Base Benjamin, Watteau and Bastings walked past the entrance under special permission once again. The patriotic sounds of trumpeting of the Battle Hymm of the Republic could be heard in the distance.

Bastings: Ah, the symphony of army music.

Watteau: _We, mon ami. _Makes me feel proud of zheir fighting spirits.

They continued their path to the army headquarters. Inside the building, there was a man dressed in a military uniform, having a single silver stripe emblem on his hat, and a cane in hand. He sat at his desk on the phone, talking rather worryingly.

**(A/N~ He is played by Principal Haney)**

First Lieutenant Edward: Yes, sir. I-I understand, sir. I'll have them up right away.

He held his head down on the desk, letting out a groan. He looked up to notice the two detectives.

Edward: Excuse me?

Watteau was about to speak up when...

Edward: Just what kind of frail-looking posture is that? Attention!

Both stood more firm than usual, exchanging looks of awkwardness at each other after that.

Edward: You. The one with branches sticking out of your head. Legs straighter. Head up high!

Bastings stood as firm as he could.

Edward: Good. First things first, I want you to keep at this position when you see me or any of the other superior officers around here. And also, from now on, you'll address us as "sir". Do I make myself clear?

Watteau: Perfectly.

Edward: I didn't hear "sir".

Another strict attack from the lieutenant caused a sensation of panic in Watteau.

Watteau: _We, _sir!

Edward: Close enough but I'll let that one slide. Now I'm sure you're aware that we're in grave danger right now.

Watteau: _We_. We got your call about some lack of somezing important in ze army and we are sent here to solve ze case.

Edward: Ahem.

Watteau: Um, sir.

Edward: Indeed. Let me bring you one of these lifesavers we were able to keep.

He opened a cabinet behind him. The two detectives grew more curious about what was so crucial to the war effort in this case.

Watteau: Is it a stolen case of Garand rifles, sir?

Edward: Nope.

Bastings: Is it an ammunition theft?

Edward: Negative.

Watteau: Rations?

Edward: Again, no.

Bastings: Brodie helmets?

Edward: N- Wait what was that?

Bastings: You know. What you Yanks call them "doughboy" helmets.

Edward: Oh no. Besides, those things are too… British. Um no offense, soldier.

Bastings: (sheepish tone) None taken, sir.

Watteau signalled Bastings for a brief whisper while Lieutenant Edward was still rummaging through the cabinet, tossing out all sorts of things; a button, a picture frame, a pistol and an umbrella.

Watteau: Did he just call you a soldier?

Bastings: I guess so. But you got to respect these Yanks. They have something righteously respectful about their demands for discipline and undying military honour.

Watteau: Don't you zink he is taking it a bit too far?

Bastings: Yes, but if this doesn't make him so great in these times of war, then I don't know what would the boys do with him.

Finally, the strict Lieutenant found the item of the day.

Edward: Take a look, soldiers. This is the very thing that can save every single Marine, Ranger and Infantrymen out there in the field! I give you… the boot!

And there it was. A brown, shabby but still tough military edition boot. But Watteau and Bastings didn't seem to get the picture.

Watteau: Um. Zat is… uh… very unique… sir.

Bastings: Yeah. Uh, it does… have that sense of military greatness. It gives… um… uh.

Edward: *sigh* Come on. You don't see this as a needs to an end of this war? Without these standard boots, no American soldier is safe from littered shrapnel or left over shards of glass or bits of wood that can easily wound a person up to the point where he ain't gonna walk or run and fight. Without these, no soldier is going to run up the hills or beaches at fast succession. Without these, no one will be safe from the threat that is the lack of foot hygiene! Without these, an American soldier is a wreck! Without these, an American soldier is… is… NOTHING!

Watteau & Bastings: Uh…

Edward: Ten-hut!

Watteau & Bastings: Sir!

As the Lieutenant marched here and there in the room, his hands were firmly behind his back and walked like his legs were made out of wood.

Edward: Somehow, someway. These boots have gone missing in action in just ONE night.

Watteau and Bastings let out gasps of shock. Hundreds, if not thousands of military boots, guarded by cautious guards, all stolen in one night! How can such a crime be committed in just one night?

Edward: We received reports at about five-thirty a.m. sharp this morning.

Bastings: Excuse me, sir?

Watteau: He means five-o-hundred. American time standards.

Edward: Some dog-gone crook has been boot-napping our footwear right from under our noses. And if I don't get these boots to General Patton in North Africa by this week, *gulp* then I'll be slapped with such a cruel and disrespectful kind of way. *moans worringly*

Bastings: You won't have to worry, sir. But why do I get the sudden feeling that's still going to happen to someone else?

Watteau just shrugged.

Watteau: Rest assured, _monsieur_, I mean, sir. Ze detectives are on ze case.

Edward: Alright. Enough with the chit-chat. The site of the crime is just a few blocks from here. You'll meet with a Sergeant Redford there. And don't forget. Stand straight and address him as "sir". And yeah, solve the case. Understood?

Watteau & Bastings: (softly) Yes, sir.

Edward: I can't hear you. Louder!

Watteau & Bastings: SIR, YES, SIR!

Edward: At ease. HUT-TWO-THREE-FOUR!

Lieutenant Edward sat back at his desk as the two detectives marched out on his rhythm. It went on until they've reached the outdoors. When the door shut behind them and all was silent, they let out a sigh of relief.

Watteau: Whew. Bastings. Let's not speak of zhis again.

Bastings: Agreed. And well done, Watteau. You managed to say "yes" instead of "we".

Watteau: I did? Oh, how observant of you. Now let's go! Ze case is on!

They walked towards a few buildings away from the HQ. As they walked by, they witnessed more troop squads performing their usual exercises. They ran across wooden logs across ditches. They crawled under low barb-wire, with the sounds of heavy machine-guns firing above them. And the all-time favourite to most, the firing range; with young and excited youngsters willing to take aim at a bunch of harmless target dummies with some of the finest weapons they had. Bastings caught sight of one such weapon at the hands of an instructor, lecturing his students about the usage of it.

Bastings: Blimey. Is that a Tommy gun?

Watteau: Indeed it is, Bastings. It reminded when I solved my first case at one time in Paris. 1933, if I'm not mistaken. Ze Case of ze Stowaway Mafia, who were armed with zhese lean, mean fighting machines.

Bastings: Hey, that was my first mission, too.

Watteau: Ah and nevertheless, zat was when we first met and worked togezher, _we_?

Bastings: Ah yes. Such good memories.

Watteau: Come, _mon cher ami_. Let us make anozher one for ze road.

As the two continued on, they made it to another half-cylindrical building. A sign nearby marked "Boots Room" says it all about its purpose. Outside the front door, a tall, charismatic young man, with his hands behind his back, was waiting outside. As they got closer, they saw that he had a three-bended-stripe insignia on his shoulder. They could tell he was a Sergeant and also with his patient posture, they also knew it was Sergeant Redford **(A/N~ played by Mr. Ratburn)**

Sergeant Redford: Ah, you must be the inspectors of this here case.

Watteau and Bastings stood at attention, just as Lieutenant Edward had instructed them.

Watteau: _We_. Zat is correct, sir!

Redford let out a small chuckle. He spoke with a softer and more enthusiastic tone compared to First Lieutenant Edward.

Redford: Oh, you must have run into First Lieutenant Edward. Don't need to be formal. Just be at ease.

They eased up their bodies and sighed.

Redford: Now then, this way.

Sergeant Redford showed them into the building. What they found was all the more intriguing for Watteau. The room had shelves and cabinets lined up along the walls, but to her surprise, although there were socks, belts, shoe polish and such other accessories, there were no shoes or boots at all! And the pungent smell of stinky socks was really getting into her nose.

Watteau: _Sacre bleau_. Zhere is nozhing here but smelly socks.

As she plugged her nose, the three of them went in, walking along the peculiar-looking room.

Bastings: Blimey. There's really not a single whooping shoe or slipper anywhere.

Redford: Whoever stole the boots must be a real expert shoe-snatcher. Not even a German spy could waltz right in and take everything.

Watteau: _We._ If someone is to take all of ze boots in one night, zhen it would be impossible. Unless, he or she did not act alone.

Redford: Multiple suspects? Clearly this base is heavily guarded. If many men were to be involved in this, then the chances of slipping out undetected would be very low.

Watteau: Eenteresting. If you don't mind, _monsieur_, we're going to take a look around.

Redford: Be our guest.

The search for clues was on. They searched the cabinets and lockers, only to find footwear accessories like polishes and laces. They searched at the corners of each support, but there was nothing but cobwebs and dust. Bastings even took time to look into a small crack on the wall. He then jumped in complete shock as a pair of unsettling eyes lurked in the darkness in the hole, only to fade away when out came a cute little mouse. While it scurried off into the distance, Bastings let out a sigh of relief to reduce his tensions and resumed the hunt for possible evidence. And then, Watteau found something at the other end of the room behind a locker. She looked behind it and saw that it was a shabby-looking military boot. She bent down and examined it with her magnifying glass.

Redford: A boot! It must have been dropped while it was being taken away with the rest of them.

Watteau: And ze criminals did take ze deliberation to return for it I suppose. It must contain some evidence here.

Bastings: Why not we take it back to the Bureau for analysis.

Watteau: A brilliant plan, Bastings.

She took out a pair of large tweezers and picked up the boot with them. She then placed it in a sealable plastic bag. Bastings then placed it in a backpack Sergeant Redford gave him.

Watteau: Now with zat settled, we should press on elsewhere. Zhere maybe more zhan one camp to loot from.

Bastings: But how will we know which camp to go to?

Redford: I suspect that the next camp will be Army Camp Lancer. It's just a hundred miles from here, but still the nearest from here.

Watteau: Well said. Let us hope zhere will be some boots left for zhem. But first we must take ze sample boot back to ze lab.

Redford: Alright. Meet me there at eight-o-clock sharp.

Watteau: At twenty-o-hundred tonight.

Bastings: Yes, yes, I got it.

And so, with the evidence they needed for now, our heroes rushed back to Detective Bureau's Laboratory of Forensic Science. After two hours since they left the army base, they entered the laboratory, which looked pretty much like a school chemistry lab instead of a mad scientist's lab. In that room, there was a man **(A/N~ played by the Brain)** dressed in a lab coat and wearing spectacles. He was carrying two test tubes filled with some liquid chemicals; one green and the other red in colour, in them. As he attempted to mix a drop of the red liquid into the green substance, Watteau walked at his side.

Watteau: _Bonjour, _good doctor.

But the intensely-focused started to tremble from the sudden call, nearly dropping the test tubes.

Eugene: I told you to knock before you come in.

Bastings: Apologies, Eugene old champ.

Eugene: Forgiven. Now what can I do for you two?

Watteau: We just came back from Army Base Benjamin. We believe a bunch of boot-stealing thieves is on ze loose and ready to strike at another camp.

Eugene: A boot theft, huh?

Watteau: We have managed to find a boot left in ze scene of ze crime.

Bastings took out the sealed boot from his bag. Dr. Eugene took the boot with his pair of large tweezers and placed the boot on a microscope. He examined it through the scope. On the boot, he could see minute bits of dirt contents on the zoomed-in surface of the boot. As he scanned on for a minute, all he could find were the same dirt particles within. But just then, something different caught his eye. There were a few shiny particles, that when it shone on the glass, the doctor recoiled from the light and fell backwards.

Eugene: Ow!

Watteau: Are you okay, doctor?

Bastings: Great Scott! What happened?

The dizzy doctor barely got up.

Eugene: I'm fine, but there was a little something I found in the shoe. Take a look.

Bastings had a go for the scope. The microscope was a little misaligned due to the shaking from Dr. Eugene's fall. When he went over the same spot, BAMM! A strike of light! Bastings, unlike the doctor, was able to stand his ground and keep the microscope on that exact spot for Watteau to take over. She examined the tiny particles where it doesn't blind her.

Watteau: Ah, it appears zat zis boot has a hint of a girl's favourite accessory. Glitter.

Watteau took a smaller pair of tweezers and picked up a few bits of glitter found on the boot.

Bastings: Glitter? On a boot?

Watteau: Glitter is used for many zhings, but if I know one zhing and I do, glitter is a righteous additive to one's beauty.

Bastings: And that's not all. I didn't want to say this, but after Watteau's assumption, I guess I have reason to speak it out. I did smell something rather… fragrant. Like, girly-fragrant.

Watteau took a sniff herself.

Watteau: You're right, Bastings. Chanel No.5. I can smell zat scent of obsessive perfume anywhere. And I know one fashionista who can't resist a good usage of zis.

Watteau took out a notebook, which contained a list of her most notorious foes. Inside, it was seen, and obviously predicted, that the Grey Dove, her number one enemy, was on the very first page of the list. But as she flipped through the pages, she looked for the one crook possibly responsible for the crime. And with a few more flips, there she found her suspect.

Watteau: Mary Hilliard!

Mary Hilliard **(played by Francine)**

A fashion-obsessed woman from Manchester, England. This rambunctious young lady is always out for the latest trend in modern dressing. But what really gives her that criminal identity is the extreme lengths she goes through at obtaining them. She has been known to steal dresses, perfumes and anything else relating to fashion worldwide. She even attempted to steal clothes and shoes as far as British India or as near as London. But her favourite target: Paris. Nothing much unpredictable about Paris' never-ending supply of fresh and new trends of fashion. And Mary has made the most runs here than any other place in the world. Watteau has come across her several times in jewellery or clothes stores, but the sneaky thief has a trick up her sleeve. She can use her own beauty to seduce her goons and even policemen into dealing with Watteau. And when that fails, she gets away with a quick blow of her glitter bombs for a quicker getaway. She is a formidable foe to face and comes to show that looks can be deceiving.

The two detectives thanked the good doctor Eugene and left the room.

Bastings: What does Mary Hilliard have to do with all of this?

Watteau: Eeenteresting question, Bastings. Because as far as I know, she is not ze type to go for military attire. It is, 'ow you say, too boyish for her.

Bastings: Yes. But the evidence might stand for it. All we have to do now is to hope that she goes for that camp Sergeant Redford said would be the next target.

Watteau: _Moi _as well.

Four hours later, dusk filled the sky as the sun set in the horizon over the Army Camp Lancer, where a watchful Sergeant Redford scanned the area from afar on a rocky cliff with his binoculars. He lowered them down from his eyes and looked around for Watteau and Bastings. And it didn't take long for him to wait. The two arrived quietly, but almost a little too quiet.

Redford: Oh! You scared the living grades out of me.

Watteau: Sorry, _monsieur _Redford. Any sign of a zheft?

Redford: Nope. Not a single man.

Watteau: Ah. So all is quiet zhen.

Suddenly, Bastings took a little sniff... at Sergeant Redford's clothes.

Watteau: Bastings. What on Earth are you doing?

Bastings: Sorry, Watteau. But I can smell something very... um...

Without warning, Sergeant Redford called out to them.

Redford: Hostiles spotted.

They watched closely from afar as they spotted two silhouettes going into a building in the camp through what may be a ventilation shaft.

Watteau: You sure zhose aren't your men?

Redford: Why would we go in through a ventilation shaft?

Bastings: He has a point.

Watteau looked closer again and saw another silhouette appear.

Watteau: Long, wavy hair it seems. No doubt. It is definitely Mary Hilliard.

Bastings: No one seems to notice them at all.

Watteau: Well I'm not going to sit around here any longer. We got to hurry down zhere and put a stop to ze crooks.

And so they scaled down the cliff. They wouldn't want to warn the hostiles of their whereabouts, so they quietly snuck their way into the base. It was almost similar in appearance to Army Base Benjamin, but this time, it was a much larger place and it had a line of Sherman tanks and Willys jeeps parked under a shelter. With Sergeant Redford joining the team, they didn't have to worry about being suspected for trespassing. They approached the half-cylindrical building where the thieves entered. Watteau went to the same spot where she saw the people enter the building. Her assumption was correct that there was a ventilation shaft there, fairly large enough to fit a man inside by crawling inside.

Watteau: Zis is it. Zis is how zhey got in.

Bastings: Now we get in there and catch 'em.

They opened the front door extra quietly to not surprise the crowd. The room inside was another boot-fiesta. Standard-edition, military boots, ready to be shipped to the men in Africa. Then, they tip-toed right behind a pile of crates. They took a peek over them and saw all that was unfolding in the room. Two dark silhouettes taking the boots one by one and pair by pair, putting them all into large sacks. Then one figure emerged from an exit at the other end of the room. He took two of the sacks and walked off outside.

Watteau: Bingo.

Then, with a blink of an eye, Watteau decided to take action and jumped right in, pointing her cane at the fiends!

Watteau: Aha! Hold it right zhere, Mary Hilliard!

The beautiful yet mischievous woman revealed herself, swinging her wavy, glittery hair as she turned her head to face Watteau. She wore her usual red, sleeveless shirt and pink skirt and a straw hat to top it off, literally. Joining her in the crime was a little shocking surprise for Watteau. He was dressed in a military field jacket and cargo pants with a camo-style fashion, with a combat helmet on top. Watteau knew that the accomplice was not a goon of Mary's. But he was an American soldier!

Mary: Oh look. If it isn't the heroic and not-to-mention fashionably-outdated Virgule Watteau.

Her taunts didn't seem to threaten Watteau. Bastings and Sergeant Redford joined the crowd.

Watteau: So, targeting military attires now, are we? I should've known your obsession with fashion could get you zhis far.

Mary: Obsession? Darling, you should by now that I'm doing the right thing. Helping people realize the importance of a beautiful tradition.

Watteau: By stealing military boots?

Mary: This old rubbish? Please. My ex-boyfriend could wear better than this. So, you want to know my latest invention. Well, here's what will literally be in store for you. These military boots, brown as a dead leaf, completely uncomfortable, too big and not to mention, the dirtiest things people could possibly have on their legs. Eck!

Bastings: But isn't that the point? You need to wear these if you want to traverse through mud and all.

Mary: Oh, my dear, why would anyone thread on dirt? It is such a crime! That is why I intend on improving them.

Watteau: With what? Pink laces and sparkles?

Mary: Okay, that is so for 4-year-olds. I tend to make boots that can make a proud Yankee soldier the top dog of the field. Even the enemy won't be able to resist until they have no choice but to surrender.

Watteau: Oh please. How does colouring boots make a soldier better in ze field? Do you know ze consequences if zhey wear such bright colours?

Bastings: You could give away their covers when they need them. Think about how commandoes get in behind enemy lines. Don't you think that type of display could alert the enemy? That's why they need THIS particular colouring. To make it look like dirt.

Mary: Whatever. I'm just about had enough of you two interfering with my plans! Take this!

Mary took out a colourful-looking bomb of some sort and tossed it right front of our heroes.

Redford: Take cover! Grenade!

Sergeant Redford jumped right at the detectives, shielding them from whatever blast might come out of the grenade. But it wasn't a real grenade. As it blew up in a pop, a pink, thick cloud of smoke filled the air. When it enveloped on the recovering trio, they coughed and coughed, gasping for air.

Mary: So long, ruffians! Hope you'll catch me soon! In the cover on a fashion magazine! *laughs evilly*

Watteau, Bastings and Sergeant Redford continued to cough in the smoke. But as it cleared, so did their coughing. Watteau looked around from the clearing smoke to find that Mary Hilliard and her accomplice has vanished!

Watteau: She's escaping! Stop her!

Redford: Yes. Let's stop her before she takes the truck with those boots!

They ran out of the building through the exit, hoping to stop Mary in her tracks. Nearby soldiers watched on in confusion and curiosity as the trio looked around for the crooks. But then, all was not going to be well. Amidst the chaos, a truck was coming out of a hangar bay, heading straight for them! Sergeant Redford jumped to the right while Bastings jumped to the left and grabbed Watteau before an accident could occur. After the fall, Sergeant Redford got up and looked on, helplessly at the exit of the camp. The truck drove off after breaking through the gate, with Mary laughing away with her quick escape. As the truck disappeared into the hills, Mary's laughter began to fade away as well. Then, it was heard no more. The mission was a failure. Sergeant Redford got up and looked for Watteau and Bastings. Bastings got up to his knees to help Watteau up. He shook her lightly and rather nervously.

Bastings: Great Scott. Are you alright, Watteau? Answer me.

Watteau followed suit.

Watteau: *groans softly* I'm fine, Bastings. Have no fear. _Merci_ for another life-saver, _mon ami._

Bastings could do nothing but blush after realizing his nervous behaviour.

Bastings: Oh it was nothing.

They both got up.

Bastings: But there goes the thief again. Blimey. We were so close.

Watteau: _We_. Nozhing frustrates me more zhan a criminal successful from his or her crime.

Redford: Well, better luck next time. Don't worry. I'm sure we'll get her next time. We'll meet up later at another date. Have a good night.

Sergeant Redford shook their hands and left the scene.

Bastings: He's right. We should get some shut-eye for tomorrow. Tally-ho.

Bastings walked in a short distance, but stopped to find something peculiar behind him. Watteau was just standing there, with her right hand holding her chin and other holding the cane. One eye was closed halfway as if she was thinking. But Bastings knew all too well that indeed, Watteau **was** thinking. Thinking about a suspicious feature in this case.

Watteau: Hmmmm. I might get tired of saying zhis, but somezing smells of ze fish. Zhere is somezhing odd about zhis predicament.

Bastings: Watteau?

Watteau: Hm? Oh. Uh. Coming. I hope I'll find out what it is soon. I just know it.

Watteau caught up with Bastings and the two were on their way to a military jeep sent by Sergeant Redford, with a driver ready to send them home. As they hopped on and the jeep drove off, Watteau was still having her weird feeling drifting in her mind. What could she be thinking? What is it that got her so suspicious about? That is a question that will have to wait until the next time.

To be continued…

Fern: Phew. That was a tough one. I don't really know my fashions.

George: Why not talk to Muffy? She does have like tonnes of them. I've seen them myself on several occasions.

Fern: Maybe you're right. I'll consider it.

Fern looked at her watch. The long hand of it pointed upwards while the shorter one pointed north-east.

Fern: Well, I better get home. Mum's making something delicious. I just hope it suits my taste.

George: Your foot's okay, though?

Fern: Yeah. It's' fine now.

But as the two got up from the bench…

Voice: Well, well, well. Look who's still wandering around here.

They jumped and looked behind them to find Binky Barnes, back with a vengeance, and backup. With him was his fellow bully, Molly MacDonald, back from her family trip.

Fern: Oh… Hey, M-Molly. Back s-so soon?

Molly: Eh, we just got word that the beach was jam-packed. And the traffic was ssooo long. So we got back, only for me to find this coward running off like a chicken.

Binky: Was not!

George was quick to try something to get Fern and him out of their unfortunate situation.

George: Uh, hey, I-I-I got something here, Binky.

He took the boot Binky accidentally left behind. He took it. George expected a rude comeback. But this time, Binky didn't threaten him, but smiled. And with somewhat friendly delight.

Binky: Hey. I didn't notice it fell off. Thanks, George.

But as George thought he could walk away without any more harm, he was wrong.

Binky: Now, about that money?

Binky's face returned to a menacing look. Molly did the same, banging her fist with her other hand.

Molly: You wanna spare, Kung-Fu Ferny?

Both of the smaller kids backed off slowly.

Fern: Eh-heh. Easy. L-let's not get too hasty, guys.

George: Y-yeah. We don't want any harm.

Both looked at each other and…

George: RUN!

They both scurried off back home, screaming along the way. The two bullies, however, did not pursue them. They could laugh menacingly.

Molly: Just look at them go. What a bunch of scaredy-cats.

Binky: Yeah. Come on, Molly. Let's get back to the playground with the others.

As Molly walked on, Binky bent down and put his boot back on. After tying his shoelaces, he walked to catch up with Molly to meet with the other bullies. But what he doesn't know, is that his boot had played a role for Fern and George for the story of Virgule Watteau. How ironic that a bully had given something inspirational for his victims. Well, as a talented English writer once wrote, "all's well that ends well." What next episode could await Fern and her story? Find out soon enough!

**Like this is the longest I've ever written in a fanfic. Well, at least I think I did. Anyway, read & review!**


	7. Watteau Gets the Boot Part 2

**Chapter 7: Watteau Gets the Boot Part 2**

On the same night from her narrow escape from the bullies, Fern was in her room, putting away her neatly-folded clothes into her closet. She then sat at her bed dressed in her light purple gown, holding her leg, as it began to feel a little more pain from her attempt to repel Binky from bothering George, not to mention also from running away from Molly. A little good night's sleep would help her recover. However, the night didn't feel complete yet. It was still eight o'clock in the night, but it was a little too early to call it a day. She needed to do something to satisfy her mind. Only then will she finally sleep peacefully.

Fern: This just doesn't feel right. What is there to do around here?

She got up from bed and went to her bookshelf, which was filled with all sorts of works by various writers. Shakespeare, Hemingway, Mary Shelly, Mark Twain, Agatha Christie. You name them. But out of all of them, nothing could catch her attention.

Fern: It feels like I've read them all.

She then picked up a small green sock dummy on her table. She laid back to her bed and played with it as a puppet. But once again, a small sigh of boredom.

Fern: It looked much more fun when George did it with Wally.

She put it back on the table and went back to walking around, picking up various items for her to complete her time. However, object after object just dumped and piled up right at the corner of her room.

Fern: *groans* There's nothing to do! Even cleaning up that pile of stuff could be worth the time.

As she was about to surrender herself to a boring night, she then spotted something in the distance. It was her red schoolbag. She rummaged through it and took out her favourite notebook which contained some of the chapters of her Virgule Watteau story. She thought she needed to find something different to suit her time, but right now, she was left with no choice but to do what she loved to do best.

Fern: Oh well, better than nothing.

She took her notebook and pencil and lay down on her bed. She opened it up and began writing away at the next mysterious chapter in the career of the 1930's detective duo.

7th September, 1942

Another day of waiting was another day the war dragged on. The Case of the Stolen Boots continued to become a real drag for our heroes. The culprit, Mary Hilliard, was able to launch several runs on different army bases on the East Coast, stealing hundreds, if not, thousands of pairs of boots from supply centres. The search went on for a few days since Mary's last heist at Army Base Lancer. So far, the feisty criminal was nowhere to be found, until one day, in New York City at 7:30 p.m…

A dresser store not far from the city square. It may have looked like your average clothes shop, but looks can be deceiving. Our two detectives walked right into the store for a little window-shopping. The shop had everything; tuxedos, jackets, top hats, neckties and other casual wear, hung within glass cabinets or folded in glass shelves. At the store's cashier counter, a young woman counted her daily results of sales. And it was there where Watteau and Bastings come in, walking past a man in a trench-coat. They went to view the countless amounts of attire on a seemingly-free day.

Watteau: Good day, madame. And how are we today?

Woman **(played by Maria)**: Oh, very well, ma'am. Have a look around.

Bastings took a walk in front at a display case of coats. Watteau just stayed at the counter, having a little conversation with the cashier.

Watteau: I see business is going well for you.

Woman: Oh, yes. I never expect myself to have many customers these days. Well, I'm just working here part-time and my boss is out to help some poor people down South recover from the Wall Street Crash.

Watteau: Oh?

Bastings continued to view a collection of neatly-folded jeans. As he walked on, he got closer to a dressing room. Someone was inside, probably trying out some clothes. The curtain was closed, of course.

Watteau: Hmmmm. Have you ever faced a zheft?

Woman: Excuse me?

Watteau: A zheft.

Woman: Um...

Bastings: She meant "theft", madam.

Woman: Oh. What makes you say that?

Watteau: Oh. Just wondering. Zhere has been a number of zhefts out zhere at army base camps.

Woman: You don't say?

Watteau: _We. _

Bastings continued to look through clothes, when a person began to move out of the changing room. Unknowingly, he bumped into the unknown woman.

Bastings: Oh, a thousand apologies, madam.

When he turned to apologize, he saw the woman. She was wearing a white British dress and a large hat of royalty. She had her head down.

Woman: Oh, it's alright.

She walked off to the cashier. Suddenly, with a sniffle in his nose, Bastings let out a strong sneeze as loud as a balloon pop.

Bastings: A-A-AAA-CHOOOO!

The woman in the dress arrived at the counter while Watteau tended to Bastings, handing him a handkerchief before he let another blast.

Watteau: _À tes souhaits, mon ami. _

Bastings: Thanks.

He blew his nose as hard as he could. The woman at the counter continued to talk to the cashier. Then, the cashier gave a small suspicious look at Watteau before the woman gave her a big paper bag and the cashier looked into it.

Cashier: Ah. It's all here. The dress is yours.

But as the woman was about to walk off without further ado...

Watteau: Wait a minute. Bastings is allergic to one zhing and one zhing only.

She made a sharp turn to the exit and saw the woman in the dress walking off.

With a swing of her cane and her face stern, she called out!

Watteau: Hold it right zhere, Mary Hilliard!

The thief was caught! The hat she was wearing fell to the floor with the sudden surprise, revealing the fashionista crook's face. Mary jumped and made a run for it! Watteau and Bastings ran after her. But as they approached the exit, Mary threw her glitter bomb at them. A puff of smoke gushed out, blinding the two pursuers and stopping them in their tracks. As the smoke cleared, Watteau could only see the escaping criminal running off in the distance to the darkness of the streets, letting out another wicked laugh as she went. Watteau could only toss her hat down in frustration. Mary Hilliard has escaped again.

Watteau: Drats. Zhat little fiend...

Bastings: *sighs* I'm sorry, Watteau. If only my allergies to her hand-made "_Maritta Belissimo_" nail polish had taken effect sooner, I might have caught her before she could do anything.

Watteau: Don't blame yourself, Bastings. It comes, 'ow you say, naturally.

Bastings: Well, we should check on the young cashier woman. I'm sure she is traumatized by the whole event.

But Bastings was far from the truth. The woman looked at her bag again with glee. But as the two approached her to comfort her, she quickly hid the bag down under the counter. Watteau began.

Watteau: Apologies, madame. Zhat crook must've stolen somezhing of importance. To her, at least.

Cashier: Really? But she did pay for the dress.

Watteau: Oh? Did she now?

The cashier nodded.

Watteau: Hmmmm. Well, _merci beaucop_ for your time, madame. Hope business goes well regardless.

Cashier: Do come back soon.

They walked to the exit. Watteau began to think again.

Watteau: Allowing ze customer to wear ze clothes while purchasing?

Bastings: Perhaps she's just new, Watteau. It happens to everyone.

With a little more thought, Watteau could only sigh, defeated by her loss in confidence.

Watteau: Maybe you're right.

But as Watteau was about to step out the door, Bastings began to sniffle again.

Watteau: Huh?

Bastings then let out another loud sneeze. And this time, he sneezed another one afterwards. And again and again. Sneezes all the way.

Watteau: Again? And much worse zhis time.

Bastings blew his nose out with on the handkerchief.

Bastings: Blimey. How much stuff did Mary touch with all that polish?

Watteau: Or perhaps she...

She then moved Bastings around the store. The cashier woman, unknown to them, was getting anxious. Just what was in the bag that Mary gave that was so appealing to her? Whatever it was, should Watteau find it, there will be no escape. The further Bastings went, the less intense the sneezing.

Bastings: Ahchoo! *sniffs* Well this is practically me being used. I'm not a dog you know.

Watteau: Just get moving, Bastings.

And he came closer to the counter. The sneezing began to make him feel even worse.

Bastings: AHCHOO! AAACHOOO!

The cashier was really starting to shiver. Watteau knew there was a lot of nail polish at where they were standing. She took a look around the counter. The cashier woman took a quick look under her table for a second before returning eyes on Watteau. But Watteau was quick to notice the sudden sight, acting a lot more suspicious.

Watteau: Oh madame. When zhat woman came to you to pay for ze dress, did she say anyzhing else?

Cashier: Uuuhhh... N-no, ma'am. I just gave her the dress. Done.

Watteau looked at Bastings again, who was sniffing his nose. Then she looked back at the cashier woman and there! She looked down again.

Watteau: Hmmmm. What are you looking at?

Cashier: Me? Oh uh, haha, nothing. Just an ant on the floor.

But Watteau was not convinced. She wouldn't be. She has met faces like that of the cashier woman before and she knew all to well that it was the face of pure anxiety. A face of guilt and paranoia. Feeling that she had enough answers to confirm her assumptions, Watteau began to walk towards the counter. As she moved closer, the woman's face got real agitated. Once Watteau approached behind the counter, there she found it! The glamorous-looking paper bag coloured in pink and with three red heart shapes, formed in a line across a lip symbol; the insignia of Mary Hilliard's "brand". The case has come to light.

Cashier: Oh. How did that get there?

Watteau: Hmmm. I don't know. Let me see.

The sarcasm in her voice showed that her question was nowhere near convincing. But to further prove her point, Watteau moved the bag towards Bastings. And, as she predicted, Bastings sneezed uncontrollably again, much to Watteau's disgust.

Watteau: Eck. _Merci_, Bastings.

She looked into the bag to find a transparent box of a similar colour scheme inside. Inside it was loads of bottles of "_Maritta Belissimo" _nail polish. Bottles filled to the brim with pink and purple liquids of polish. The cashier could hold no more.

Cashier: *sighs* Alright you beat me. I admit. I traded that dress with this irresistible work of beauty. How could have I resisted? I wanna look good for the customers.

Watteau: There's no doubt zhat Mary's products are razher appealing to ze men. Well,** almost** every men.

Poor Bastings was blowing his nose away.

Watteau: But still, what you have done is still against ze law. Your boss could use a lot of answers.

Cashier: I know.

Watteau rummaged through the bag again.

Watteau: What do you find appealing in zhis cheap waste of good...

Suddenly, when she took out two bags containing the polish, she looked into the paper bag again and saw the unexpected.

Watteau: Aha!

She took it out. It was a pair of military boots! They still looked like the ordinary boots, except that now the boots had red-coloured shoelaces instead of brown or dirt-like, as well as glitter all over them!

Watteau: Letting ze zhief get away with a dress is bad enough, but now supplying her dirty work?

But the cashier didn't show signs of extra guilt. She was shocked, but it was more of the dumbfounded, "I didn't know that" face.

Cashier: Wait. I didn't order a pair of old boots. I swear!

Watteau: Zhen what were zhese doing in ze bag with your new polish?

Cashier: I-I don't know. She didn't tell me anything about boots. I did wrong to take the polish, but I did not say anything about those boots. Please you got to trust me on this!

Watteau: I zhink you may be right, madame. But zhis is still a serious case. Fear not. We will only go as far as question you under ze watchful of ze authourities.

She took out a pair of handcuffs. The cashier woman allowed herself to be arrested with no opposition. She felt guilty over the nail polish-dress trade but she was also feeling betrayed and curious, at the same time, about the hidden pair of boots in the bag.

Meanwhile, elsewhere back at Army Base Lancer, the scene of the last crime, the area was all quiet again, Guards were watching the area. And at the building where the shoe theft occurred, we see a soldier entering inside it. He took out his flashlight and looked around the dark interior. There were lots of empty shelves from the heist. He walked in, flashing his light here and there. Nothing but fallen boots on the floor and the empty shelves. But as the light shone on a few crates, something was there that got him interested. A shadow formed, but it wasn't from the crates. It was a human-like shadow. Shining the light back again and, this time, it was gone. Just the shadows of the crates. But to be really sure, he walked to those crates and shone the light directly behind them.

Soldier: Well, well. What do we have here?

Later on, in the Detectives' Bureau, in a dark and busy corridor filled with other detectives walking around here and there, Watteau and Bastings were spectating an interrogation...

Fern: Interrogation? That's rather harsh. Ah. Questioning. That's the word.

...a questioning of the possible assailant of Mary Hilliard. Inside the blank room, the young woman was sitting at a table with a fellow detective opposite her. She tried her best to compose herself at such a tense situation. There were signs of extreme nervousness, but she was more than willing to know what the big deal was about her boot ordeal.

Detective: So you didn't know the boots were in there, Miss Wanda Bridgett?

Wanda: I've been telling Miss Watteau the same thing over and over. Of course I didn't know.

Detective: And you said that you've been good friends with her since two months ago?

Wanda: That is correct, sir. I've been getting goods from her ever since, in exchange for her products.

Detective: Alright. I need you to be honest with me. What else did she say or do to you?

Wanda: Okay. It went like this just earlier today. So, there I was. Counting my money. The day was going by just nicely. There were no customers but a strange man in a trench coat and bowler hat. He walked around the store, browsing the clothes. Then, out at the exit, came a woman also in a coat and fedora. She walked, head down and hands in her pocket. It was Mary Hilliard herself. As soon as she came in to find the dress I told her about a week ago, the man earlier walked out to the exit. Then Mary came in and took the dress right there near the exit. I don't know this, but they appeared to have stopped at each other for a second there. Probably an accidental nudge. She then walked fast towards the changing room. That was when the two detectives came to the shop. Judging by the pace Mary went by, I was guessing that they were no strangers to her, neither were they her friends, but I wasn't entirely sure. When Mary came to me with her bag, I still didn't feel anything other than the guilt from the possibility of getting caught. And it happened. One of the detectives let out a very strong sneeze. And at that moment, Mary gave me the bag quickly and walked out of the store. Just then, the other detective, Miss Watteau, yelled out to Mary, knowing her instantly when her hat fell off. Mary ran as fast as she could, with the two detectives hot on her heels. I then tended to the bag and couldn't be any happier about getting those nifty nail polishes. But the happiness was not to last. So eventually got caught and you should know the rest. And that's what happened.

Watteau and Bastings entered the room.

Watteau: Well?

Detective: From the looks of things, Watteau, she appeared to have told me the whole truth. I can tell.

Watteau: _Merci beaucop_ for ze help, Andrew.

Andrew: My pleasure. All you need to know about her case is written there on that piece of paper. Knock yourselves out.

He walked out of the scene and Watteau proceeded to read what was written. She read the whole thing explained by Wanda. After a minute, she lowered the paper and tended to Wanda.

Watteau: Madame. You know ze consequences of your actions, right?

Wanda: Yes, Miss Watteau. I guess I should go to jail, huh?

Watteau: Well, since you have come clean nice and easy, we decided to let it slide for now. But your boss would still like to have a word with you.

Wanda could only lower her head in agreement and defeat.

Wanda was escorted out of the room and out of the police station, expecting the worst from her boss. Bastings walked to Watteau.

Watteau: Bastings, do you remember ze man leaving ze store earlier?

Bastings: Why yes, Watteau. Why?

Watteau: I have an 'oonch. And don't go asking me what zhat means. Because zhat man may hold an answer to our case.

Bastings: How do you know?

Watteau: Judging by zhis part here at ze "accidental nudge", maybe zhere was a connection. We find ze man, we find Mary's next plan.

Bastings: I could've sworn I saw him entering a nearby diner joint a few blocks away from the store.

Watteau: Zhen zhat's where we may find him. Come!

An hour later, they returned to the same area where the shop, by then closed, was located in. They walked down a few blocks to the left as Bastings had mentioned. They stopped outside the local diner. It was white in colour and had purple linings and a neon-lit hamburger sign on top. They entered the joint. Thankfully, it was still open for business, but only three people were left dining on the junk food and fast drinks. It was not the neatest-looking diner they have been to. Messy walls and littered garbage all over the floor. Watteau approached the man managing the counter while Bastings looked around for the possible suspect. He was rather a hot-headed-looking man, a little chubby and in his mid-40's by the looks of him.

Manager: Hey, if you're looking for a good meal, then you're our last customers. We're closing real soon so make it snappy.

Watteau: No, _monsieur_. We are looking for a man in a brown trench coat and a black bowler hat. Have you seen one?

Manager: Ma'am. I had lots of those guys coming in here.

Watteau: Zhen did one just happened to come a few hours ago?

Manager: What is this? Some witch-hunt for the mafia or something?

As the unpleasant conversation went on, Bastings checked on the remaining customers in the diner; a casual-looking couple and a man in a tuxedo. But so far, there was no sign of the said man in the trench coat. Just then, he heard a clanking noise coming from behind. He went to find the source of the sound which came from the restroom. Like the place itself, the restroom was just as filthy. Bastings walked closer into the room. He heard a couple of light thuds coming from behind a door to one of the toilets. He moved, opened the door and looked in.

Bastings: Aha! Huh?

But there was no one there. Just an unoccupied toilet bowl. However, above the toilet bowl, he noticed an open window. He knew someone was indeed trying to escape. He inched closer to the bowl and was about to climb up. But then, suddenly, as he peeped through the window, the loud calls of Watteau from the diner were heard.

Watteau: Bastings! Come! We got to move!

Bastings: Uh, okay!

Bastings looked back at the window. But he didn't climb up to look for anyone. He just walked down from the bowl and was ready to move on when, suddenly, he found something on the floor. It was a piece of paper, but what really got his attention was a sparkling shine on it. He looked at it and saw a lip mark. Obviously this was one of Mary's brand logos. He read through the note that was written.

Bastings: Bingo.

He rolled the paper up and exited the area. Unknown to him, however, a mysterious figure was seen peeping out of the window. What appeared to be little eyes became thinner as if they were glares, before the figure disappeared into the darkness of the back ways. Meanwhile, the two detectives exited the diner.

Watteau: I have just got a call from Sergeant Redford.

Bastings: What did he say?

In the same questioning room where Wanda was brought to, there stood Watteau and Bastings, with Sergeant Redford sitting down at the same table. Opposite him, sat a young man in in a white T-shirt and a pair of dog-tags around his neck. He looked like someone who just came out of college. He had impressive muscles and his head looked it had been dashed with red powder; in other words, he was a red-head who had his hair shaved off. HE was a young recruit stationed at Army Base Lancer and was there for only two months. Sergeant Redford was looking real strict. Why shouldn't he be? He was the boy's superior after all.

Redford: Now Private David McLellan. Explain yourself.

But David was resilient, claiming on and on that he had not done anything wrong.

David **(played by the teenage cat from the "Bleep" episode of Arthur")**: I'm telling you, sir. I did not do anything at all!

Redford: Then how do you explain hiding behind that pile of crates in the boots storage room where the heist was committed?

David: Okay, so I snuck in, but I was only looking for the right size of boots for me. Do you know how tight the ones you gave me were, sir?

Redford: Don't you use that tone on me, soldier. How can we be sure that you didn't attempt to steal them for Mary Hilliard?

David: Please, sir. I'm really telling the truth. I've never even met her.

Watteau had her hand under her chin at this point. All of this seemed quite vague for her. The young lad had indeed snuck in for a new pair of boots, but it wouldn't be that serious enough for a proper trial. It was a lack of discipline which can be easily arranged at the base itself. Why would this case be brought to court so easily? Moreover, why should he be suspected for assisting Mary? But she still was vigilant at the boy, because it was still possible that he could be conspiring. She'll need a

Watteau: Is zhere anyzhing else you found, Sergeant Redford?

Redford: As a matter of fact, I did.

Sergeant Redford took a plastic bag and put his hand in it. When it came out, he was holding a glitter bomb like the Mary used last time.

David: It looked pretty. I thought of giving it to my girl in Iowa. It may look lethal but it'll fit both of our personalities.

Bastings: How romantic. The combination of two different interests to form one symbolic…

Watteau: *nudges Bastings* Whose side are you on?

Redford: That's no excuse to get yourself out of the crime, young man.

Watteau: If it is alright with you, Sergeant, may I take my turn in ze questioning?

Redford: Uh, sure, Watteau.

The strict Redford left the room while Watteau took the seat. Now, she got into serious mode and stared at the young soldier.

Watteau: Hmmmm. So, _jeune homme_. Tell me what had happened so we can clear zhings up.

David: Look, that grenade was just there on the floor. I picked it up for said reason. And then I went to pick a pair of boots from the shelf. Then it all came down when that shelf broke. I had to run for cover. Yes, I was indeed guilty of a little change for shoes, but doing it for a fashionable fiend? Come on. I told you. I already have a girlfriend.

Watteau: Mary has been known for seducing even ze most loyal of men. Zhat is why you get a decent number of soldiers and policemen losing zheir jobs.

David: Well, whatever the case. No fashionista can get me to do serious stuff there.

Watteau: Hmmm. Defiant now, are we?

David: Oh come on. You still think I could be lying?

Bastings: It's never easy to persuade the great Watteau.

Watteau: And she is indeed zhinking zhat you could be hiding somezhing. We need to be extra sure.

David: Okay. But you'll see.

Watteau: I have got a feeling zhat we shall for sure.

Just then, Sergeant Redford came walking into the room.

Redford: I just got a call from the officer in charge of Army Base Benedict. There seems to be a stakeout somewhere over the hills nearby. Kept on freaking out that it could be a nest of German spies. But duty calls. I must attend.

Bastings: You want us to come along?

Redford: Uh, maybe not this time. This is a soldier's business. Like the guy said, it could be some _kraut_ spies. I'll see you around. Good luck.

He then gave a serious look at David, still believing he was possibly involved in Mary's escapades. As he left their sights, Bastings was doing something almost peculiar. He was sniffing at Sergeant Redford. He did it before Mary's break-in at Army Base Lancer. It was a sweet and fragrant scent he smelt that night and it was the same thing this time.

Bastings: Hmmmm.

Watteau: Bastings, you said earlier you found somezhing in ze men's room?

Bastings: Indeed I do.

He took out the note he found. Watteau flinched at the thought of it... being left on the floor.

Bastings: Oh don't worry. I'll read it. Ahem.

To my dearest fan,

- Meet me here at Army Base Benedict. We got a whole bunch of boots waiting to be beautified by me! Do keep an eye out from those two detectives.

Love, Mary Hilliard.

Watteau: Eeenteresting.

But her interest soon faded when she faced the stubborn David, still looking down. However, her face turned a grin soon after.

Watteau: Well, _Monsieur_ McClellan. We might have to do something about your possible involvement with Mary Hilliard.

David: Man, what will it take for you two to believe me?

Watteau: Never mind zhat. Unfortunately, my attention has been diverted elsewhere.

David: Okay. Then what about me?

Watteau: Since you are still a suspect, you have to be with us for now.

David: Huh? Seriously?

Bastings approached Watteau and whispered to her.

Bastings: Are you sure that's a good idea?

Watteau: It will increase our chances of proving whezher David is guilty or innocent. Besides, we could have a great chance at zhis, Bastings. We can solve zis case as we go.

Watteau approached David.

Watteau: Alright. You know ze drill.

Bastings: Let's get a move on, lad.

David: Hmph. I still think you'll be wrong about me.

Watteau: Just come and behave yourself. We will be ze judge of zhat.

They took David, still handcuffed, with them as they exited the room and the station itself. They then awaited a taxi at the nearest taxi stop. Watteau continued to inspect David's increasingly impatient behaviour. But there was no sign of any wanting to escape. David just sat there at the bench, showing no sign of hostility, unless you think looking angry was offensive.

Bastings: Uh, Watteau. You did hear Sergeant Redford, right? This could be a task only meant for the military. Interfering could mean breaking the law.

Watteau: Unless we bring ze case to ze light. Besides, if anyzhing happens, I can try and get us out of it.

Bastings: Alright, but I don't see why David should come with us.

Watteau: Don't worry so much, my dear Bastings. I'm beginning to zhink zhat bringing him along is ze best idea of ze day. Besides, I have security clearance from ze President himself.

Bastings could only raise an eyebrow curiously, interested on knowing what Watteau could be implying about. It took five minutes for the Detective Bureau's exclusive travel-anywhere service taxi to arrive and send them to Army Base Benedict.

After two hours, they arrived outside the base, which looked more like a naval docking bay than a regular inland army base, for training men to man landing craft and other water vehicles used for amphibious landings. Watteau and Bastings walked over to the guard post at the entrance, with David behind them, still unwilling to make a run for it.

Bastings: I smell trouble here.

Watteau: Because it was named after ze American traitor, Benedict Arnold?

Bastings: How'd you know?

Watteau: Lucky guess.

There was a man dressed in a military uniform and holding a Tommy gun, standing guard. They stopped in front of him as he held his hand up to halt them.

Guard: Halt. This area is for military personnel only. State your business.

Watteau: We are here to investigate a possible case of theft here at zhis base.

The guard seemed curious and went into the post. He looked through a clipboard. After a few seconds, he came out to the group and shook his head.

Guard: I'm sorry. But an investigation is already being carried out by a Sergeant Redford. I cannot allow you to enter.

Watteau grinned.

Watteau: Zhat is okay. I so happened to have special permission from…

When she put her hand in the pocket inside her suit, searching for the Presidential permit that would allow her to carry on investigations anywhere by permission from the President, she paused. There was nothing in that pocket! She could only chuckle in embarrassment.

Guard: Sorry, ma'am. No permission, no entry.

Watteau could only walk in disappointment, Bastings and David followed her.

Watteau: _Sacre bleau_. I must've left it back at ze office. *sighs* So much for ze direct approach.

David: So what are you going to do now, huh?

Watteau: Watch it, you. But fear not. I have another plan. Follow me.

They went over to the chain fencing blocking passage to the base to where no one would be able to see them. Watteau crouched down next to the fence.

Watteau: Bastings, bring me ze "_Fraises spéciales de cachette Bonté"_

Bastings looked into his pocket.

Bastings: If you mean these wire cutters, here you go.

David rolled his eyes. Watteau then proceeded to cut through the thick linings until an opening on the fencing was made. Bastings kept the cut off fencing as they went right in through the narrow opening. Bastings then took out a tube of glue and brushed at the pointy ends. He then pasted the fencing bit to where it was before. Now it looked like as it was never cut in the first place.

David: Man, how ironic that a bunch of detectives actually erased their own evidence.

Watteau: Come on, Bastings. If I have to end anozher episode of his boldness, it should be right now.

The three of them walked on through the outdoor area of the base. Just everything you would find at a docks were there; shipping crates, large cranes, tug boats and even the old Higgins landing crafts, ready to send brave Marines to land on enemy beaches. As they snuck through, passing every guard they nearly stumbled upon, they arrived at a huge warehouse in the middle of the area. The almost equally large sliding doors were shut tight. They looked for side entrances but there were guards on watch.

Watteau: No way in. Zis is going to be harder zhan expected.

Bastings: Come on, Watteau. Maybe Sergeant Redford's right. Maybe we should leave this to him.

Watteau: And lose our best chance to catch zhat fashion lover in crime? No way, Bastings.

She held her chin and thought for a bit.

David: Look, your partner has a point. We should just leave before the guards come by.

Watteau shook her cane close at him.

Watteau: Ah ah ah. I'm not going to fall for zhat, if it were to deliberately delude _moi _from catching Mary. If you want to prove you are innocent, zhen hush.

David: Alright. Your loss.

She continued thinking hard for a few seconds. Then, she looked up at an open ventilation shaft near the corner of the front doors. An idea has come to her.

Watteau: Bastings. Do you still have ze grappling hook and rope we used during ze attempted heist on ze _Lourve_?

Bastings: Why yes. I so happen to have it with me. Why?

Watteau: Because I zhink we are going to make like Santa Claus and come down ze shaft.

Bastings: Doesn't Santa Claus come down a chimney?

Watteau: Eh, I had nozhing else.

They quietly rushed to the front of the building and below the shaft. She took the grappling hook and rope from Bastings and swung it like a lasso. Afterwards, she threw the hook up the shaft, but it missed and hit the wall instead, releasing a loud clank sound.

David: Hey, we're trying to get into the warehouse, not redecorate it with dents.

Watteau: And I suppose you could do better?

David: Heh. Piece of cake. Here.

He pulled back the hook quietly and swung it himself. And away it went. This time the hook successfully latched on to the shaft.

Bastings: Yes!

Bastings' faint but still alarming sound nearly gave the two a fright.

Watteau: Sssshhh!

Bastings: Whoops.

And alarming it was, for two passing guards coming right at them! They walked by, with flashlights shining here and there. One of them was also holding a Colt pistol with his right hand. Watteau and the others gasped silently.

Watteau: Quick. Zhis way.

They hurriedly detached the grappling hook and snuck behind a pile of crates just in front of the building. The guards approached in front of the crates, oblivious to the presence of the trespassers, but still vigilant.

Guard 1: I know I heard something here. It was like a loud yell.

Guard 2: You sure?

Guard 1: Come on. You, you're kidding me. You were like a meter away from where I was. How can you not hear what I heard?

They walked past the hiding spot and walked over to the other side. Watteau, relieved of the seemingly passing threat, slowly put her foot out to move out of the hiding spot. However, the two guards stopped in their tracks.

Guard 1: I'm telling you. I know I heard something with my two own ears.

Alarmed, Watteau retreated back to the hiding spot. The two guards walked back the other direction.

Guard 2: Nah, maybe your ears need a good treatment. Go see a doctor once later.

Guard 1: My ears are perfectly fine.

They stopped in front of the hiding spot and flashed their lights around. Some sweeps barely missed Watteau and the others. But they stayed put, gently swinging their lights here and there. It's a wonder how they were missing the hiding trespassers. Watteau was looking real cross and impatient, itching to move a muscle.

Watteau: We have to lose those two guards.

Bastings looked around. After a few seconds, he found a stone on the ground. After picking it up, he tossed right over the guards at such great distance. Once the stone landed, it skipped a few times, releasing faint tapping sounds. The guards quickly turned to the direction of the sound.

Guard 2: What was that?

Guard 1: Now you heard something?

Guard 2: Come on. I think it went this way.

They walked off in a hurry to pursue the source of the sound. They seemed to have gone as far as where the stone had landed, but they just kept on walking off further into the distance. Only then did Watteau, Bastings and David come out.

David: Well, that worked.

Watteau: Good throw, Bastings.

Bastings: I have a knack for baseball, don't you know?

They gathered up and resumed their ascent to the ventilation shaft. They climbed up the rope and when all three are in the shaft, Bastings wound up the rope and placed it back in his pocket. They crawled on inside the long shaft and turned on every inner corner. The vents were really dusty and not to mention, rusty.

Bastings: Blimey, what a mess.

After navigating for a minute, they finally got to another end of the shaft, overlooking a huge, spacious room with thousands of crates and barrels. There was even a smaller crane inside. It was somewhat quiet and dark as would any closed building interior. Just the sounds of calm waters from the nearby dock canal and even some squeaking rat noises.

Watteau: Hmmm if Mary would want to steal boots here, zhen she would take forever. A great chance.

But the ground below was too far for them to jump down to. So Watteau looked around. She looked at a tower of crates in front of them and judged the horizontal distance between her and the crates. Then, she climbed out and hung on to the edge of the shaft opening. She lifted her legs up to the wall and with one push, she made an impressive leap across and caught hold of the crates. She proceeded to climb down the pile like climbing down a mountain. She then grabbed a nearby ladder and took it to the shaft for Bastings and David to climb down. They all made it to the floor.

Bastings: Alright. Now that we are here, what's next?

Watteau: We fan out and search for Mary or anyzhing zhat could lead us to her, given zhat we are not too late.

She looked at David.

Watteau: But when I said fan out and search, I meant me and Bastings. Make sure David doesn't leave your sight, Bastings.

David: Argh! This is getting annoying. Why can't you believe me?

Watteau: Until we solve ze case. And when zat happens...

She tapped her cane at his chest.

Watteau: ...only zhen we shall see if or not you are guilty.

David: Hmph.

Thus, Bastings and Watteau separated and went on different paths, with David forced to be under Bastings' watch. At Watteau's end, she walked along a narrow aisle with towering shelves of crates and barrels on both sides. She eyed on here and there, looking for possible leads to Mary Hilliard. Every two seconds she walked, her cane tapped along the floor. And every time she needed to stop and look at a stationary position, she would lean her hands on that cane.

Watteau (thinking): Come out, come out, wherever you are, Mary.

Meanwhile, Bastings and David were walking the other direction from where they were separated from Watteau. And this time, at each side, there were also crates and shipment packages, but were all piled up in stacks or towers instead of being neatly organized in the large metallic shelves. They walked on and on until they reached a waterway that would be used to have a cargo ship to dock and be loaded with the endless amounts of supplies inside the building. And indeed there was a huge cargo ship docked in there at the moment. They looked around the place. Just then, while Bastings was looking at the place, David walked back a little bit behind him, unknown to Bastings. And then, he began to walk off.

Bastings: Hmmm. This should be a probable place for an escape route.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Bastings felt a strong force, pushing him at the back. It was so strong that he was tumbling over the protective railing that would prevent him from falling into the water.

Bastings: Woo- WHOAAAA!

He fell right into the water, head first. He dived down deep with his entire body submerged under the salty sea water. And he was nowhere to be found. Just then, a sihouette of a man came by to watch as only bubbles came popping out at the surface. He then disappeared as he walked off deeper into the warehouse, leaving the poor detective to drown in the dark waters of the docking bay. However, after another few seconds, at the site of the splash, more and more bubbles began to surface. Next, with one gush of water, Bastings finally emerged out of the water! He floated on after coming out and swam towards the nearest platform. He climbed up to safety, lying down on the floor, taking deep breaths and coughing up, tired.

Bastings: *coughs* Well, that was *cough* refreshing...

On the other hand, Watteau was still walking on until she was at a cross - junction area. She thought of which to turn to - either go right or left, straight or even back. But then, when she was about to make a decision, she saw something behind a forklift truck at the left turn. As she looked closer, there it was. Another dark sihouette! It then made a mad dash to the left turn.

Watteau: Hold it right zhere!

But the figure did not listen. It ran as fast as it could, and so did Watteau. She chased the mysterious being throughout the area. Other than making runs on the ground, it also attempted to shake her off by climbing up crates and hopping across shelves. But Watteau could do just as much and with such ease. But at one point when the digurw made a leap from a shelf to another, Watteau nearly fell doing the same, but held on to the shelf and put herself back up. She continued her pursuit for a few minutes. Then she came across a large space of crates that seemed to be filled with military equipment from the logos and labels that would discourage people from opening them. She lost sight of the pursued sihouette and scanned the area with her sharp eyes for it. But for all she could look for, there was not a single trace. She walked a little further into the area when she spotted a peculiar-looking crate. It looked like it was shaking. Watteau moved closer and tried to touch the box. But as she was about to, something leaped out of the box and tackled her down to the ground! It was the figure. And this time, his clothes could be seen clearly. He was wearing a plain black wool shirt and dark green jeans. He had a nearly fat stomach and a mask to cover his face. From there he held a baseball bat with his right hand and raised it in the air, while pinning Watteau down with his left one. He was ready to swing it down on her! But before he could launch a strike, Watteau immediately kicked him with her legs at his stomach, sending him flying a few inches away and landing on his back. Watteau recovered from the attack and took her cane. The masked man then tried to attack back with his bat but Watteau knocked his hand with her cane and sent another knockout blow to the head. The man fell to the floor dizzy and then, unconscious. Watteau spun her cane as a victory pose. She then tied up the crook with some long rope she found nearby and sat him up against a pole.

Watteau:_ Désolé_. But I have had enough headaches for one day.

Then, she saw someone coming around the corner. It was Bastings. He walked towards Watteau, seemingly weak and soaked.

Watteau: Bastings. What happened to you? You're even wetter zhan a fish out of ze water.

She also noticed the absence of David.

Watteau: And where is David? I zhought I told you to watch him.

Bastings: Let's just say I've had fun swimming with the fishes. Thanks to an uninvited guest. And I've got a good feeling I know who it was.

Watteau : Never mind zhat. While you were taking a dip in ze canal, I found zhis scoundrel giving himself quite ze chase.

They walked towards the unconscious man.

Bastings: Who do you think he is?

Was he an accomplice of another Mary Hilliard heist? This was the most important question up their mind.

Watteau: Only one way to find out.

She held on to the mask to unravel the identity of the man she was chasing so thoroughly throughout the vicinity. With one firm pull, the mask was off. And the man's face was visible.

Watteau: *gasps* _Sacre bleau_!

Watteau's face was filled with extreme shock and so was Bastings'.

Bastings: Great Scott! How can it be?!

Watteau: It is... It is...

But just as Fern was about to let loose the big secret, a few knocks on the room door were heard.

Fern: Huh? Oh uh, come in.

The door opened and in came her mother, Doria Walters.

Doria: Fern dear. You're still up? Do you know what time it is?

Fern: I know. Time for bed. Just trying to find something to complete my night.

Doria then turned to the hill-sized pile of stuff at the corner.

Doria: My goodness! What happened here?

Fern: Um, *chuckles nervously* Rejected ideas for my spare time.

Doria: *sigh* Why can't you be more like your father?

She smiled.

Doria: But it's getting late, so I'll let this slide. But if you don't clean this up tomorrow, it'll really slide. Alright, honey?

Fern: Of course, mum.

Fern put away her notebook and pencil on her drawer next to the bed. Doria tucked her daughter to bed and exited the room.

Doria: Good night, my little writer.

Fern: Night, Mum.

The door closed. Fern let herself relax under the comfort of her pink-coloured bed.

Fern: *yawns* I think I'll finish the chapter tomorrow.

And thus, she began to doze off to dreamland. And this might leave you to wonder; who was the identity of the mysterious madked man? What was it that shocked our heroes? And just what happened to David? All intriguing questions that shall be answered on the next chapter!

**Another chapter complete! And boy was this long or what?! Anyway, hope you read and review soon!**


	8. Watteau Gets the Boot Part 3

**Chapter 8: Watteau Gets the Boot Part 3**

**A/N~ This chapter takes place after the events of the recent Arthur episode, "The Case of the Girl with the Long Face". So, all the credits go to 9Story Entertainment and PBS for the first part of the chapter.**

Another day, another case. The rains were about to stop pouring and three kids were walking down the wet sidewalk of puddles. One was dressed in a light brown trench coat and a darker brown hat, while the other two were none other than Fern and George. Fern had recently recovered from a week's time of slight depression from the sappy atmosphere of rain, much to the concern of George and Buster Baxter. While she held her umbrella, the three walked on to conclude a hectic case solving.

"So, nobody made you sad?" asked Buster.

"I tried to explain it before to George." answered Fern. "Sometimes I just get the blues." She turned to Buster. "Buster, haven't you ever had a bad day for particularly no reason?"

Although Buster has felt blue in many days, his thoughts just couldn't make him remember any of them.

"Um. Not sure."

"Don't worry if you do. You'll feel better soon. It's kind of like when it rains and rains. Sooner or later…" Looking up, they see the dark, stormy clouds drift away, making room for the clear blue sky and the welcoming bright Sun, signalling the end of another gloomy day. "…the Sun always comes out."

"Wow." George was fascinated by the glow of the Sun.

"One good part about my blue periods is that I often get great ideas for my stories. For example." Fern walked in front of the boys and put on her Watteau act. "Virgule Watteau, awoke from her stupor, with ze answer to ze Paris mystery. Ze weeks of rain has casued ze locks in ze zoo to rust and crumble. So ze animals had freed zhemselves!"

"Great twist!" praised George. As Buster walked off back home, hands in his pockets, the other two kids walked into Fern's house.

"Hey, I wanna apologize again for the stuff we did earlier. I really wanted you to be happy enough to tell me the Paris Mystery." said George.

"Nah. Don't worry about it too much." Fern smiled. "I should've just told you the problem sooner and more properly. You know how the rain gets it to me."

"Next time you get upset, do tell me what the matter is."

"I'll try. Thanks." They entered the house and Fern looked at a pink-coloured bag that Buster had given her on behalf of Muffy Crosswire, who she and Fern got into an argument with each other over Fern's new lavender-coloured bow and wanted to make amends to things. Inside the bag were another five bows of red, orange, yellow, green and blue.

"It was still real sweet of Muffy to give me these." said Fern. "Remind me to apologize to her when I see her."

"Will do." said George.

Half an hour later, the two friends went to the Elwood City Library, where people were here and there reading all sorts of books the library had to offer, Fern and George were sitting at one of the long tables. Usually, when they come to the library, they have a whole stack of them, typically old literature works and mystery stories. But this time, it was a clean table with nothing more than Fern's notebook and pencil. They were setting up for the next chapter of "Virgule Watteau: War Detective" as "The Paris Mystery" was done. George once again held the book up close due to his dyslexia problems. He read through the entire last chapter that Fern wrote the last night.

"Wow. Nice cliffhanger." praised George. "Can't wait to see who it'll be."

"Then wait no more, my friend." said Fern, enthusiastically. "Come. Shall we get started?"

"I've got three hours left before my woodwork class. So let's get this story started!"

His voice was real loud, much to the annoyance of most of the readers in the library who gave out a simple but stern hush to him.

"Whoops." he softened his voice to a quiet whisper. "Sorry." Fern giggled a little.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing. Back to work."

And the story continues…

It was in the huge, old warehouse at Army Base Benedict, where our heroic detective team of Virgule Watteau and Gerald Bastings were hoping to stop yet another clothing heist of the infamous fashionista, Mary Hilliard. Previously, Watteau went on a wild goose chase throughout the building's interior when she chased down a mysterious masked man who she caught sneaking around inside the warehouse. She managed to catch him and tied him up to a pole. Bastings had just arrived on the scene, wet from an unfortunate fall into the warehouse canal by a similarly suspicious figure. And to make things worse for him, he had just lost a possible suspect in the case. Private David McClellan, who had tried to steal a pair of boots from Army Base Lancer but was caught by Sergeant Redford, who was currently on a mission to hunt down a possible stakeout near Army Base Benedict. With the suspect gone, Watteau would not be able to know for sure if David was or was not involved in the crime. But for now, all eyes were on the masked man tied to the pole. He was unconscious. That's what you would get if you mess with Virgule Watteau and her handy cane. They walked towards the unconscious man.

"Who do you think he is?" asked Bastings. Was he an accomplice of another Mary Hilliard heist? This was the most important question up their mind.

"Only one way to find out." said Watteau, firmly. She held on to the mask to unravel the identity of the man she was chasing so thoroughly throughout the vicinity. With one firm pull, the mask was off. And the man's face was visible. Watteau gasped!

"_Sacre bleau_!" Her face was filled with extreme shock and so was Bastings'.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "How can it be?!"

"It is... It is..."

"**Lieutenant Edward**!"

Lieutenant Edward! He was the same army lieutenant who gave the briefing about the boot heist at Lancer. A strict man who gave Watteau and Bastings a disciplinary lesson. A man who truly valued the true meaning of military attires. But what could he be doing here? It was obvious to them that he was sneaking around as if he entered the warehouse illegally. Supposed he could have entered in without any difficulty from the guards since he was a high-ranking officer. But why was he wearing a simple outfit instead of his dashing military uniform? Something was definitely up and who better to know this than Virgule Watteau. The two observed the unconscious officer.

"What do you suppose is going on?" wondered Bastings.

"I am not sure, _mon ami._" said Watteau. "But once he wakes up, we shall find ze answer." Just then, a little hint of movement at Loeutenant Edward's face. His shut eyes started to shake, his mouth opened a little. As he started to regain consciousness, he moved his body from side to side, eyes still closed. Once they opened, he started to develop his sights again, but still unable to see the ones responsible for his current situation.

"Ugh." he groaned. "What in blue blazes? I haven't been this bad since I was at Belleau Wood. I..." Once his vision was a hundred percent clear again, the images of Watteau and Bastings appeared in front of eyes.

"Are you... alright, sir?" asked Bastings.

But, Edward's response was a bit unusual. His eyes were then filled with shock and guilt. Even the tone of his voice was not any more familiar; a stuttering and nervous voice.

"Oh no!" he started. He laid his palms on his cheeks with complete worry.

"Lieutenant. Just what exactly are you doing here?" asked Watteau.

"I... I can explain..."

"Wait." Watteau stopped him in his tracks. She tapped her right foot as she began to suspect the situation. "I zhink I know."

"What?" asked Bastings.

"I only said I 'zhink'. So I am not a hundred percent sure. But I am suspecting zhis. Zhat..." Watteau turned to Lieutenant Edward. "Lieutenant Edward may be conspiring woth Mary Hilliard."

"What?!" exclaimed a shocked Lieutenant Edward. "I would never!"

Could Lieutenant Edward be another seduced pawn of Mary Hilliard, or was there another possible and innocent reason for his hostile intrusion into the warehouse?

"Zhen tell us why you have come to ze warehouse?" asked Watteau.

"Okay, I came here for the pairs of boots that..."

"Hah!" Watteau was quick to point that out. But Lieutenant Edward was not done.

"Could you let me finish?! Sheesh. Anyway workers went to work putting crates of boots to several other docks across the East Coast. But when I came to them, they were taking a coffee break. I couldn't tolerate such laziness but time was running out for those crates to be shipped to the front. So I had no choice but to do the dirty work. There were two trucks; one to send desert combat boots to North Africa and another for jungle combat boots in the Pacific. I began loading the two different types into the respective trucks. It took me ten long minutes to get it all loaded up. But for some reason I started to feel that my muscles were somewhat losing strength. So those last few minutes really dragged me down. Thus I began to slow down drastically. When all is said and done, I sat on a bench, feeling exhausted to the extreme. All that heavy lifting and no thanks to those miserable slackers back there. The trucks soon left off. However as I was about to give those lazy bones an earful each, I took another look at the trucks driving to the exit. And that's where things got terribly wrong. The truck with the desert boots had a crate of jungle boots in it! Why should troops in the desert be wearing boots made for traversing muddy and watery ground when the sand is all rough and tough? It was a total crisis! I couldn't just let those boots go to North Africa. The poor kid who would wear them. If I don't get those boots into the right field, I am going to suffer every officer's worst nightmare!"

"Wh-what?"

"A demotion!" Watteau and Bastings just stared at each other awkwardly. "So I decided to sneak right in and find that crate and put it back to the right army base at the West Coast."

The explanation would seem reasonable, but it wasn't enough for Watteau.

"Anyway, zhere is just one, 'ow you say, itty-bitty problem. Why under such stealthy conditions? You could have just showed your figure of authority to ze security. You are so much more superior in terms of ranks. Why sneak in without anyone knowing?"

"You don't understand. I…"

But just as the investigation heated up, then came wicked feminine laughter from the distance. The familiar giggle filled Watteau with great annoyance.

"Zhat laugh…"

Then, a thud was heard from behind Watteau and the others. They turned around to see a figure in a hooded cloak along with two other men, dressed in street outfits, walking in. The woman lowered her hood and revealed herself. It was a face of pure crime and ambition. It was none other than…

"Mary Hilliard."

The nasty fashionista revealed herself at last. This time she had her hair tied to a ponytail as it hung down from her lowered hood.

"Well, well, well." Mary teased. "If ain't the caped fashion rejects. You sure know how to make entertainment real exquisite."

"Hmph. Your entrance is no relieving news eizher."

"Now, if you please, I have some really important makeovers to deal with, so why don't you make like a piece of glitter and drift away by my beauty."

"You are not going to get away zhis time, Mary. I, Virgule Watteau, will make sure of zhat!" Mary grinned without being intimidated.

"Oh yeah. Well, in case you haven't noticed, my adoring fans here won't let that happen." She tickled under the chin of one of the underlings. "Right, boys?"

"Uh…" responded the love-stricken goons. "…yeah. Anything for you, oh beautiful sublime Mary."

"Eck." Watteau stuck her tongue out. "I zhink I am going to be sick."

"Well, here's something to be sick about! Hit it, boys!" The two men charged at Watteau and Bastings like raging bull elephants in musth.

"Quick, Bastings." alerted Watteau. "Take ze one of ze left. Ze one on ze right is mine."

"I got this wanker covered." acknowledged Bastings as he slammed his right fist into his left palm. They went on the offensive as they engaged the two goons in a close hand-to-hand battle. Watteau wielded her cane with great physique and style as she swung forward at her target.

"Give it up, little girl." teased the fiend.

"Ooohhh." groaned Watteau. "Take ze deliberation to hit me…" When the goon launched himself at her, Watteau made a jump, stepping on his back and jumping off again as he tumbled to the ground. "… take ze pleasure to tie me up…" He recovered from the fall, but not before having a nice whack to the head by a throw of Watteau's handy cane. The henchman fell again hard on the floor; this time, dizzy at first and then unconscious. "…but never call me a little girl again."

Meanwhile, as Watteau put her foot down on her defeated foe, Bastings was faring a little worse. He tried to charge at his target, only to be held at the head by the much taller henchman.

"Oh my." he said. "What a fighter. Hah!" The henchman picked him up by the antlers and tossed him towards a pile of crates.

"WHOOAHH!" yelled Bastings, as he was sent flying towards the crates, breaking them in the process as he landed hard on them. Out of the clearing dust and the debris, Bastings rose, woozy and beat. "Oooohhh, I don't feel so swell."

"Then allow me to make 'ya all better!" The goon charged at him. But before it seemed over for Bastings, Watteau was quick to notice that her partner was in dire trouble. She looked around her vicinity. Then, she found and picked up her fallen victim's hat. She faced the ensuing duel.

"Oh no, you don't!" She tossed it like a boomerang as it was sent hurling towards the charging fiend. As he was hit from the back of his neck, the shocking blast caused the poor man to lose balance of his feet and tumble down, sliding forward at Bastings. But the nimble detective got up just in time to make a quick leap over the near-colliding goon. The poor man crashed into the debris and further to the shelves. As his sliding was halted by the collision with the shelf, he was barely able to stay conscious. And he would have got up fine, if weren't for a little surprise above him. A fresh supply box of white but stinky...

...socks!

"Oof!" The fiend was covered under a pile of pungent socks with a nice whack on the head by the falling crate. He was knocked out unconscious. Bastings proceeded to take the goons' hands and handcuffed them. The attention was all turned to Mary, backing away from the easy defeat of her henchmen.

"Ze game is over, Mary!" yelled Watteau.

"Oh dear..." Mary wept, apparently. "...my boys down for the count and I'm..." She took out her handkerchief from her pocket and shed a tear. "...all alone." She sniffed while wiping the tear off her cheek. "What's a defenceless damsel like me gonna do now?" She let out a few sobs, hoping to dampen the mood of the drama. Lieutenant Edward was convinced, but was Watteau going to be as well?

"Don't play tricks with me, Mary. You know zhat won't work on me... well, at least, not anymore... unlike ze last time."

"Heh, it was worth a shot." Mary took out one of her makeup grenades and threw it at the detectives. A pink gash of smoke filled the air, blinding them and causing them to cough non-stop. But Watteau quickly grabbed Bastings' arm and ran out of the cloud of smoke. As they finished up their coughing, they opened up their eyes.

"Do you *coughs* see her?" asked Watteau, hurriedly. Bastings looked around the area. Just then, he saw a running shadow heading off from the smoke.

"Over there!" He pointed out at it. It was Mary running up the catwalks above the warehouse interior. The two detectives ran to pursue Mary at the catwalks stretching across the interior. Mary soon descended down from the other side of the catwalks, with Watteau and Bastings in hot pursuit, hot on their heels. In desperation, she stopped for a while and looked around the cross junction she was at. So how would it be for her? Left, right or forward? Which path would make the fastest trip to freedom? Her pursuers were getting closer and closer. Every second she spent was giving them an advantage. It was then she made her decision. Meanwhile the chasers continued to run after the fleeing criminal, unaware that Mary had decided to stop running. They approached the same cross junction as Mary was and stopped their dash. But Mary was nowhere to be found. Was she really that quick? Could she actually have outrun them again? Watteau looked down on the ground and kneeled down. A set of tracks left behind by Mary were visible. Feeling the ground with her hand, Watteau examined the tracks in detail, to see how fresh the dirt was from when Mary stepped on them.

"Hmmmm. Ze tracks are still fresh. Notice how dark these tracks" She also noticed that as the trail went on, there were duller and duller tracks, as if they were fading from with each step. Finally, at the end of the trail of tracks, there were already no more steps left. "And from zhis point, she appeared to have stopped here." But where could Mary be? If she had stopped, then surely Watteau knew that Mary could've not gone far.

"She would know how to move on quietly and lightly to not show any more tracks." suggested Bastings.

"_Oui_. Zhat is why we must remain vigilant. She can be real devious." But just as Watteau carried on with the deep thinking, Bastings caught his eye on something really weird behind Watteau. He couldn't help but just ask.

"Um, Watteau." he asked. "I have a question."

"_Oui_?"

"Do barrels have legs?"

"Pfft, of course not. Why?" Bastings pointed out behind her.

"Well, I think you're about to get a reality check." Watteau turned around. There she saw indeed a barrel with two legs with running shoes, tip-toeing behind them.

"Hmmmm." Watteau sarcastically spoke. "You're right, Bastings. I guess barrels can have legs after all." She winked at Bastings.

"And blimey…" followed Bastings. "…what a rare occasion. Don't you think?"

"_Oui_." She walked towards the barrel for a closer look. "And what are we going to do about it? Well, I know one zhing." Watteau grabbed the edge of the wooden barrel, hindering its movements. Then, with one tight pull, she removed the barrel and threw it aside. And there, revealed the sneaky guise of Mary Hilliard.

"Eep!" Mary made another hasty rush along the canal walkways.

Watteau and Bastings once again were in pursuit. They chased her all the way through until they reached a really long drawbridge near the large entrance for docking ships. Mary stopped to catch her breath for she couldn't run any longer. As she panted in tiredness, she looked behind to find the two detectives catching up real quick. Realizing that she didn't have time to rest, she quickly made a dash across the bridge. By the Watteau and Bastings reached the starting point of the bridge, Mary was almost halfway across the bridge. Wasting no time, Watteau scanned the bridge and found a control console next to the bridge end. She took her cane and threw it like a javelin at the red button on it, causing the tip of the cane to press on it. With the button pressed, there was sudden movement on the bridge. Mary felt the shaking of the bridge as began to ascend upwards. The bridge splits into two and the ends go up the same way, leaving an opening that would allow ships to enter the building. Unfortunately for Mary, she was still on the first half of the bridge as it was being lifted up in the air. But she had no choice. She quickly ran again, hoping to make a leap forward to the other side. She ran like the wind with all her energy while the gap between the two sides of the bridge began to widen. Once she reached the end of the half, the gap was almost too big for her to jump over successfully. However, there was no stopping her. Watteau and Bastings just stood there and watched as Mary was about to make the epic jump. Then, with all her strength, Mary thrust herself off to the other side. She could feel her body practically flying over the canal, hoping to catch onto the other half of the bridge. Just then, she held her hands up and barely caught the edge. She was almost too late, but it was only half the problem. Now, she had to try and climb up while hanging on as if she was dangling from a cliff's edge. All she saw below her was a large stream of seawater. As much as she could try, she couldn't hold on any longer. She soon began to lose her grip with one of her hands. A few seconds, finally, her last ounce of energy was depleted. She fell down a few feet from the bridge, screaming, and plunged into the salty water.

Watteau and Bastings ran to find her from the railings. All they saw was the large ripples from the splash. For a few silent seconds, there was no sign of Mary anywhere. The two began to look worried of Mary, fearing that she had drowned. But then, a few seconds later, a few bubbles began to come up to the surface. Soon after, the water started to spout out. Watteau and Bastings let out a sigh of relief to find that the fallen criminal had managed to surface. Gasping for air, she made freestyle strokes to the other side of the canal. Climbing up the ladder, she stopped momentarily, choking on the sea water from the dive. Her hair was completely soaked from all that swimming. But as she was about to regain her footing, there was a sudden snap sound along with a gripping feeling at her wrists. She looked up and saw, in despair, the victorious smirk and face of her arch-nemesis. After so many long agonizing days, Watteau had finally caught the crook. Mary stood up in defeat as she was led across the lowered bridge by Bastings. Watteau let out a sigh to relieve her stress from all that running, fighting and thinking. But the troubles were not over yet. The case has only been half-solved. There was still one last thing she needed to settle before the case can officially be done.

The detectives met up at the end of the bridge with Mary in their custody.

"I hope you like prison clothes, Mary." teased Watteau. "Cause zhey will fit you nicely."

"Hmph, whatever. I'm glad you're happy. Thanks a lot, you fashion let-me-downs."

"I'd say we call this a "case closed", Watteau?" asked Bastings. Watteau had her arms at her back and walked a few steps away from Bastings. She turned around, facing him, and said,

"Ze case is not closed yet, _mon ami_." So what's missing in this mystery? "Zhere is still only one last zhing we have to find out."

Watteau and Bastings left Mary to sit idly against a large crate and walked off where they could still see her.

"Go bring me Lieutenant Edward. And do your best to make sure he doesn't break loose. If what he told us is ze fact, zhen we can…" As she was about to give the order, they heard what appeared to be a sound of a footstep. They turned around. Mary was still sitting down, staring at the two.

"What? Wasn't me this time." Then, there it was again. Another clearer sound of a footstep. Watteau faced the direction of where it came from. She saw a shadow on the floor from behind a shelf.

"Who goes zhere?" called out Watteau. The shadow began to shrink as if the owner of that shadow was coming closer. Watteau and Bastings prepared themselves for the worse. As the footsteps got louder and louder, the shadow was getting smaller and smaller. And then, finally, the owner arrived. It was the figure of an averagely-built man in casual wear and a pair of dogtags hanging from a necklace around his neck. Recognizing the red hair on the man's head, Watteau sighed in relief.

"Ah, David. Zhere you are."

"Uh sorry." said David. "I kinda… got lost on the way." But unknown to everyone, Bastings was acting rather peculiar. He was tapping his foot and had his arms crossed, giving a suspicious look at David.

"Hmmmm…" He walked towards the Marine who was being watched by Watteau and himself for being under suspicion of conspiring with Mary Hilliard. He stopped in front, arms still crossed and face still as serious. "Are you sure about that?" David raised an eyebrow and gave an awkwardly curious look at Bastings.

"Uh yeah." he answered. "There a problem?" Bastings stared at him a little longer, rubbing his chin. Then, after a few seconds of staring, Bastings stopped his session of it.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just gonna go and get Lieutenant Edward, Watteau. They're all yours." Watteau nodded as Bastings walked off to find the apparently still-tied up army lieutenant. Watteau then walked towards David. He gave an equally suspicious look at him as Bastings did.

"What?" David asked.

"I was wondering why Bastings was acting so doubtful of you lately." said Watteau. "But now, I zhink I know why." She walked around him, eyes all on him. David could only stare awkwardly.

"Now, _mon ami_. I trusted Bastings to watch over you while we went to search for leads. While I was apprehending one suspect at my end, Bastings came back from his, all soaking wet. So let me ask you. Did you or did you not **push** him into ze water?!" A sharp attack from Watteau as David was taken aback by the sudden statement.

"What?! Me? No way!"

"Zhen where were you when he was pushed off?"

"I-I-I wanted to take a look around to… see if I can help out. There may have been something somewhere in this stinkin' old place." David was shivering all over.

"Awww…" A sudden fake sympathy from an arrested Mary Hilliard. "Come on, sugar. Why don't you just admit it?" David was further shocked.

"**Admit **what?" asked Watteau, looking sternly at David.

"You heard me. You should know by now, Watteau." Mary's voice was with a sense of taunting.

"David? Is zhis true?"

"Wh-what?" David backed off a bit. "Why would I? Don't you dare lie!" He pointed at Mary, angrily.

"But what's done is done," continued Mary. "so why don't you just give yourself in?"

"But, Watteau? You're not gonna believe this fiend, are 'ya?" Watteau walked towards him, with a pair of handcuffs. It seemed like there was no use arguing. She proceeded to handcuff his hands, with her face filled with a little regret.

"_Je suis désolé_, _Monsieur_ McClellan." apologized Watteau. "But I have no choice." David could only have his mouth agape before lowering his head in despair.

"Oh good." said Mary. "So now that the case is solved, maybe you can, you know, spare me the…"

"Forget it, Mary. But you have done enough as well."

"Dang."

Then, afterwards, Bastings arrived from behind with the handcuffed Lieutenant Edward alongside him. He was also feeling a bit jumpy from this turn of events.

"You've gotta be mistaken." he said. "I would never betray my country by giving them to some lowlife punk!"

"Uh!" Mary could not believe what she had heard. "Lowlife? How rude!"

"Come on, soldiers. You need to see reason for this." But all Watteau and Bastings could do was put Edward and David against a forklift vehicle. They then met up.

"So," Bastings began the conversation. "Where shall we start? Was it David, Edward… or both?"

"Hmmmmm…" Watteau tapped her cane on the floor. "Zhis is a real tough one, Bastings. David did look guilty leaving you off like zhat. Maybe you had ze right to suspect him. As for Lieutenant Edward, his behaviour was like zhat of a real criminal. Acting on a break-in, despite his superiority in ze ranks of ze army."

"Watteau," Bastings interrupted. "maybe…"

"_Oui_?"

"I think we're being a little too suspicious about David." Bastings looked at David, who could only have his head down in sorrow.

"But he would have been ze one to have pushed you into ze water."

"Well, maybe. But he could've done it out of fear. As suspicious as it may get, there's still a possibility that David could've wanted to escape because he just wants to clear his name." Watteau was impressed and at the same time, feeling guilty herself. Perhaps she was thinking a little too small about David. She was awed by Bastings sudden devotion and defence for the boy. But the feeling of impression soon turned back to suspicion.

"It may be so. But what he could've done was still an offense zhat could not be ignored. And Mary was 'admitting' zhat David was involved."

Suddenly, as the investigation deepened, a sound of an opening door from afar filled the scene. Watteau and Bastings looked on as the door at the nearest wall opened up. There, three more men entered the room. Two of them were in military uniforms and held a Garand each. The other, similarly dressed, came in empty-handed. He ran towards the group.

"Now just what's going on here? An auction?" It was Sergeant Redford. His fists at his hips. He saw the handcuffed people on the floor. He then looked at, with complete shock, Lieutenant Edward.

"Lieutenant? Sir? What on earth?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell these two subordinates" said Lieutenant Edward. Redford then faced the two detectives.

"I thought I told you that **I** had the case under control."

"Well, Sergeant." said Watteau. "With all due respect, and in case you have not noticed, I managed to arrest Mary before she could pillage anything. While you were still outside searching zhat stakeout."

"Hmmm. Yes. So you did."

"Alright. Now if you would _excusez moi_, I need to settle with ze rest of ze suspects."

Watteau and Bastings went to tend to the suspects. But just then, Bastings felt a sudden ticklish feeling in his nose. He sniffed and sniffed. Then, he let out a real loud sneeze.

"AAACCHHOOO!" He rubbed his nose. Watteau raised an eyebrow.

"Hmmm. Mary. It seems your little perfume products are causing my partner to let one loose."

Mary was being led out the door by one of the soldiers. Another came with her still unconscious goons. But…

"What?" she asked.

"You know, ze repulsive materials zhat make Bastings sneeze?"

"Aah! My perfumes are NOT repulsive!" Then, she raised an eyebrow. "And I, like, did not apply perfume on me today?" This hit Watteau.

"Mary Hilliard did not put perfume?" she asked herself. Then, she looked at Bastings. "Zhen what is causing Bastings to sneeze zhat badly?"

She couldn't put a finger to it. How can Bastings have a case of allergies if Mary did not put on any? But she had an idea. To be extra sure. She grabbed Bastings and moved towards Mary.

"Am I going to be the…" said Bastings as he sniffed his nose. "…bloodhound again? Or should I **sneeze**hound?" As he sniffed, Mary backed away.

"Ew! Get away from me." But there was no reaction. Just sniffles. A disgusted Mary was sent away with her goons. Sergeant Redford stayed behind. Watteau continued her investigation by heading towards the suspects. A little sniffs at Lieutenant Edward and there was still no reaction. And over to David. To Watteau's surprise…

"Nozhing as well?" Still puzzled, Watteau let Bastings go. She handed him a handkerchief. "Zhis is going nowhere. How could you have sneezed, Bastings?" He blew his nose.

"Don't look at me. It must've been those two goons you forgot to check."

"Maybe. Come. Let us check. Sergeant?"

"Y-yes?" responded Sergeant Redford.

"Do bring me zhose two fiends if you please."

"Sure thing." He walked to the exit to get the goons. Just then, without warning.

"AAAACHHHOOOO!"

Another wacky sneeze!

"_Sacre bleau_!" exclaimed Watteau. But the fiends had not been brought in. So what was causing that clamorous sneeze? Watteau put some thought to it. She walked around for a few seconds. She stopped.

Sergeant Redford arrived with the two goons, now awakened.

"So, you wanted these two baddies?" Watteau showed him her palm.

"On second zhought, Sergeant," said Watteau. "I do not."

"Huh?" Redford could not figure out what she was thinking. She just **did** ask for them. Despite this, he ordered his men to put them back outside to be sent to prison. Redford stood in front of Watteau.

"Anything wrong, Miss Watteau?" Watteau crossed her arms.

"In fact, zhere is one zhing I'd like to ask **you**." She moved to Bastings and held him again. Redford stood there, watching her with oddness. Moving Bastings closer, she stood with him, holding his sleeve tightly, without a word. What was it this time? Could she be on to something?

Just then…

"Aa-aa-AAAACHOOOO!" A sneeze! Which could only mean one thing.

"Aha!" She pointed her cane at the one man that could be responsible for the conspiracy the whole time. Sergeant Redford.

"What?! That's preposterous!" Redford's voice was that of strong and apparent defiance. But not enough to convince Watteau. She walked to him and looked into his pockets. Rummaging through one of them, she began to pull out a certain object in it. And then, when it came out, Watteau was ecstatic.

"A bottle of Mary's _"__Maritta Belissimo" _perfume!" The case has been brought to the light. Two birds in one stone. Watteau had finally caught the partner of Mary's boot heists!

"Darn!" Redford yelled. "Okay fine. There! I did it. I helped Mary Hilliard with her dirty work!" The truth began to unfold more and more as Redford, filled with loss and regret, finally admitted his doings.

"Zhen may I ask why?" asked Watteau.

"I couldn't find the perfect gift for my wife for our anniversary tomorrow. I neither the money nor the time to find and buy one for I answered to the call of duty to the Pacific. But one day, weeks ago, after I returned for a break, I had the chance to go out and find one. Everywhere I went, there were great choices to choose from, but the prices was staggeringly high. I still could not afford anything. Finally, after days of searching, I was about to give up, prompting me to go for the boring old choice of a bouquet of flowers instead. But then, out of the blue, luck came to me. A young woman dressed in a sparkly dress and beautiful hair came to me, with a bag of her hand-made perfume. I took a whiff and immediately loved it. I thought it would be the perfect gift for my beloved wife, but the woman couldn't give me the perfume without a catch. She told me the most despicable things to do. Stealing military boots! I could not do such a thing to the army, but what about my love? What choice did I have? So, without further ado, I accepted her offer with great reluctance, but all in the name of love!"

Bastings used the handkerchief Watteau gave him to wipe the tears from his face as he sobbed from the dramatic admitting.

"That… was so… sad." He blew his nose.

"Bastings!" Watteau exclaimed, giving a knock on his head with her cane.

"Ow!"

Watteau cleared her throat.

"Mr Redford. I understand you must love your wife real well. But conspiring with a criminal and to go as far as stealing from ze military, just for a bottle of perfume? Zhat is just so… so… wrong!"

"Yes, soldier!" yelled Lieutenant Edward. "You are an absolute disgrace. You don't deserve those medals. You don't deserve those clothes. You don't deserve my respect! I shall have you court-martialled for this!"

"No!" Redford yelled. "You're the ones who are wrong!" He made a mad dash for the exit. Watteau could not believe her eyes.

"Bastings. Free ze two gentlemen zhere." She ran out the door to pursue him. As she exited the building, she could see Redford running away, pushing away any soldier that got in his way. There were also Mary and her goons inside a military prison truck, waiting to be sent to the nearest prison. Watteau quickly ran after Redford. He ran along a long road leading to the exit. Watteau paused for a moment and threw her cane at him. A successful hit to the head caused the fleeing sergeant to fall on the floor flat. He could barely move a muscle from that blow. Watteau leisurely walked towards him. She then stopped in front of him and kneeled down at him.

"Look, _Monsieur_." She began gently this time. "Ask yourself. Do you really zhink she would get tired of ze average flowers? Do you really zhink she could love you more with zhat bottle of perfume? Please. She is your wife. She loves you no matter what. Every gift you give her is all the same. A sign zhat you do too love her. Why risk your reputation for zhis? I zhink ze flowers would have been a better choice." Watteau's firm but true words finally got the best out of Redford. He planted his face on the ground, sobbing away in absolute regret. Another case solved!

Back at the entrance of the base, Watteau and Bastings were with Lieutenant Edward and David. She watched as the defeated sergeant was sent away in a prison truck, awaiting his judgement. She let out a soft sigh, feeling sorry for the poor old man. But attention was forcibly turned back to Lieutenant Edward, who was more than displeased.

"Now listen here, you maggots!" he yelled. "Next time, you disrespect an army officer like this again, you can forget about your little jobs!"

"With all due respect, sir…" said Bastings. "…but shouldn't you worry about what **you** had done?" Edward moved in and was about to yell at Bastings again.

"Why I outta…" But he stopped in his tracks. He had not thought about what would happen to him. After all, he did enter the warehouse through illegal means. "Oh dear. You're right, soldier." His face was filled with pure fear. "Oh, what am I going to do?!" Watteau let out a chuckle.

"Do not refrain, sir. Because you did it for ze greater good of a soldier in need of proper footwear, I shall see if I can make your case an exception." Edward sighed in complete relief.

"Thanks, soldier. Dismissed!"

"Yes, sir." Watteau and Bastings said softly.

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes, sir!" They yelled louder. The cross lieutenant marched away to go do his own business. "Phew." Attention soon turned to the officially innocent David McClellan, who had his arms crossed and a grin on his face.

"So…" said David. "I'm guessing that you should apologize now?"

"Don't push your luck, kiddo." warned Watteau. "_Nous sommes désolés_" she whispered. David could not make out what she had just said.

"She said we are sorry." translated Bastings.

"_Merci beacoup_ for ze interpretation, Bastings." Watteau said, sarcastically.

"Well, I'm gonna go back home now. See ya guys some time. Not." David ran to a nearby jeep, ready to send him home in the city. Watteau huffed.

"Ze nerve…" She and Bastings walked to another jeep as well.

"So I can safely say that this is another caper thwarted, Watteau?"

"Indeed, Bastings. Indeed." They hopped on board, waiting to finally get a good night's rest after a hard day's work. It was a real dramatic experience for our heroic duo. A man who would go to extreme lengths to win her lover's heart. It was a real peculiar case indeed. One that would definitely be remembered thoroughly in their career.

**The End**

Back at the library, Fern had put down her pencil.

"Done with this one." she said, cheerfully.

"Boy, did that take long." said George. He looked at the clock on the library counter. Its long hand pointed up while the little one pointed to the right.

"Oh no!" he yelped. "I-I'm late for woodwork class!" Everyone in the library let out their hushes again. But Bastings couldn't have time to care. "I gotta go. See ya!"

"Oh okay." said Fern. He ran for the exit, much to the dismay of the librarian, Miss Turner. "Bye." she said, unable to bid farewell to him on time. She held her notebook and flipped through the pages of all the other Virgule Watteau stories. All the writings from the combined creative minds of her and George. Once done from the last chapter she wrote, she closed the book and a smile formed on her face. She had a great idea that could make her works be known.

"I think Watteau is about to become a star."

**So there you have it! Another case and another chapter closed. And to excite further, I shall provide you with a special treat. A brand new sneak peek of my upcoming new fanfic! Hope you catch it on my account soon! R&R please,**


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